


Booked and Bespoked - A Mills & Boon Romance

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Author Merlin, Background Eggsy/Percival, Background Victoria/Ivan, Body Piercing, Brief Misunderstandings, Fake Dating, Hand Jobs, Harry Has a Horrible Mother, Hart Family History, Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Mills & Boone Romance, Nobleman Harry, Only One Bed, Slow Burn, alternative universe, background Roxy/Tilde, happy endings, harlequin romance, not spies, prince Albert piercing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-05-15 16:05:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19299112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Merlin is one of the most prolific and popular writers of genre fiction in Great Britain, but he's suffering from a tremendous case of writer's block.  His editor, Eggsy, suggests he go back to what he'd been doing when he'd written his breakthrough novel nearly thirty years ago - a tell-all book about being a paid companion for high-society women, or a "walker" as they were once called.  The thing is, that is exactly what Merlin had been, a paid companion; the more he thinks about it, the more he finds the idea appealing.  He can go back out in that world and gather fodder for a sequel.Harry Hart, Marquess Cardoc and owner of Kingsman Media, is sick and tired of his horrible mother trying to marry him off to eligible women.  No matter how many times he's told her that he's gay, she doesn't want to believe him.  His senior fiction editor and good friend, Eggsy Unwin, suggests that he find someone to fake date - like those men that used to escort women to society parties.When Harry and Merlin finally meet, it seems like fate has made a perfect match.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anarchycox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/gifts).



> Thank you so much, AnarchyCox, for the gorgeous and inspirational artwork. I am loving the chance to let my Merlahad feelings just fly.
> 
> Also, thank you for being the most awesome co-mod ever!

Eggsy, his editor and a good friend despite his youth, drops a two inch thick stack of paper onto the desk. "I hate to tell you, Merlin, but this is utter shit."

Merlin scrubs his pate. "Aye, I know. But I'd hoped I was being overly self-critical and it wasn't as bad as I'd thought it was."

Eggsy grimaces. "Sorry, mate, but it is." He heads over to the bar, a nice perk for an editor, and pours them each a dram of Scotch whisky. "Here, drink this and tell me what's going on. This isn't like you. Been working with you for five years, and you've never turned in anything this soulless."

Merlin knocks back the Scotch and sighs. "I'm sorry to tell ye, but I really don't know what's going on. I feel like I've been sucked dry. The words just aren't there. Or if they are there, they're the wrong words."

Eggsy's a little more respectful of the fine alcohol and just takes a small sip. "Do you want to write something else? I know this is a Clarke Morgan quarter, but if you're not feeling the words for 'International Man of Mystery', then maybe you want to write some Davina Gallup?"

"Romance?" Merlin shakes his head. "I tried. Also tried writing as Carter Harris and Bellamy Shaw, and I couldn't get anything going there either."

"So, Science Fiction or Fantasy isn't working for you either?"

"No. I've gone back through notebooks and journals and files with scraps of ideas, but nothing is clicking. My fucking brain has gone dry." Merlin knows he's whinging but this has been an on-going problem for months.

"Maybe you need a break, Merlin. Take some time off. We've got three books in the pipeline, there's no reason why you can't give yourself some breathing room."

""That's very generous of ye, Eggsy lad, but I don't think the powers that be will really be pleased when they find out yer letting me off the hook for what I'm contractually required to deliver."

"Hm, perhaps. But my boss trusts me and he knows that I don't coddle my writers unnecessarily."

Merlin gets what Eggsy's trying to do for him, and if he isn't feeling so defeated and disgusted with himself, he'd appreciate it. "I have a contract that's coming to a close, do ye really thing Kingsman Media's going to renew it if I don't produce?"

"Every one of your titles is a moneymaker, Merlin. Kingsman would be stupid to cut you loose just because you're having a couple of bad months."

Intellectually, Merlin knows that's the absolute truth. He's put out three books a year for a decade, writing with different pen names in a half-dozen genres. None of them are great literature, but they are reliable reads for the masses and always crack a best seller list or two. And every so often – about once a decade – he writes a book under another, less well-known pen name, that makes the literary people sit up and take notice. Those books are big-idea stories, and he probably should be writing one of them now.

Except he's all out of ideas.

"I have an idea," Eggsy says.

"Oh?" Merlin is desperate and will take anything.

"Go back to the beginning."

Merlin is confused, to say the least.

"What were you doing in 1988?"

That was the year he had written _Walking Out_ , a novel about an outsider's look at the emptiness of London's High Society. It had been something of a sensation and had been his one and only book to make the long list for the Man Booker Prize. It had also been mostly a true story. "Ye don't want to know, lad."

"But I do, Merls. You were doing something that made you hit the jackpot. Was thinking, maybe you could go back to that, find your spark again. You know what I mean?"

Merlin does, unfortunately. "I was a broke young lad with a useless double-first in Classics and Literature from Cambridge, and the most valuable thing I owned had been a bespoke tuxedo that my Great-Uncle Archy insisted I needed. He'd taken me to a tailor on Savile Row, paid for the whole kit, down to the shoes, and died the day after I had picked it up."

Eggsy must read something in his face, or his words give him away. "What about that tux, why is it so important?"

Merlin wonders if Eggsy once had a career as an interrogator. Or a shrink. "Like I said, it was bespoke, fit me like – well – like it had been made for me. And I didn't exactly have a lifestyle that made it useful."

Eggsy gives him a hard stare and grins like a shark, "I think you did."

Merlin looks everywhere but at Eggsy, and while he's barely had two fingers of whisky, he can feel his control fraying. He _wants_ to tell Eggsy, he really does. "Can ye keep a secret, lad?"

"Never grassed anyone, even when it meant the difference between a bad beating or a really bad beating. Not gonna start now."

Merlin hopes that's true. He hesitates and then says, "Have ye ever read the book _Walking Out_?"

Eggsy's eyes go huge. "Hell, yeah. Was just a sprog when I found it in the back of my mum's dresser. Figured it was going to have all kinds of sex in it, from the way she'd hidden it. And I was right. Don't tell me you wrote that! I must have read it twenty times - it's the kind of book you can keep going back to and finding something you hadn't noticed before. And the sex is kind of hot."

Merlin flushes at that. "Aye, well. R.S. Macintosh had been my very first pen name."

"Wow. I had no clue - I'd always thought _The Late Show_ had been your first book. You've never written anything else like _Walking Out_.

"Aye. That book has been my dirty little secret for thirty years. I got a notice from the original publisher that it's finally out of print; this is the first quarter I haven't had even a minimal royalty payment from it."

"So, why do you call it a 'dirty little secret'?" 

Merlin rubs the back of his neck. "Well, lad, it had been kind of autobiographical."

Eggsy's smile widens. "Figured. In the book, it was the grandfather who bought Stephen a bespoke tuxedo. It's what gave him the in with all of those society birds."

Merlin swallows, his mouth dry. "That suit was my downfall and my saving grace."

"How much of the book was real?"

Merlin shrugs and admits, "Most of it."

"Including the sex?" Eggsy's never been shy about pressing Merlin's buttons.

"Even that. I was young and I needed the money. Performative heterosexuality had been the thing back then – you had to create the illusion of romance and while everyone knew that the walkers were gay, being publically out would destroy that illusion."

"So you're not bi?"

"No. I did what I had to do to pay the rent and put a meal on the table. But I will say that fucking a client happened far less frequently in real life than in the book. Woman wanted someone they could trust, sex would complicate that."

Eggsy raises an eyebrow. "So, sex with women wasn't as frequent, but your protagonist had a lot of sex with blokes. Clients' husbands and brothers and fathers. You – _he_ – were quite the rounder. That just storytelling, too?"

"Ye're a nosy git, Eggsy Unwin."

"Yeah, not denying it. And you're not denying it either."

Merlin shrugs. "I was young and good looking. The men paid better than the women, truth be told."

Eggsy pours them both another dram. "So, how about getting back out there, do a bit of escorting – the public kind, not the bedroom kind – and maybe get some ideas for a sequel? Where is Stephen after thirty years? Is he happy or is he a wreck? You'd left a lot unsaid and the world has changed."

Eggsy's words send a frisson up his spine. Ideas start whirling and out of nowhere, Merlin feels an almost uncontrollable urge to write. But he plays it cool, this idea might completely fizzle out. They talk a bit more and Eggsy promises to talk to his boss about a sabbatical. 

"I'll take care of you, Merls. You're my favorite author and you're Kingsman's biggest moneymaker. My boss would be an idiot if he didn't renew your contract and give you a bit of a break on the last book." 

Merlin isn't relieved, but he does believe in Eggsy's partisanship. "Thank ye, lad. I appreciate whatever ye can do for me."

"Go, get out of here. And don't think about writing for at least a week."

Merlin ignores Eggsy's words, his head already spinning with ideas for a new story. Merlin doesn't bother with a cab or the Tube, his flat in Bloomsbury isn't all that far away. He drops his coat and his keys on the floor and heads for his office. Depending on the type of story, Merlin may or may not start with an outline, but the ideas in his head are too precious to lose and he pulls out a notepad and starts writing them down in longhand.

It's full dark before Merlin drops the pen. His hand aches – he's out of practice writing the old-fashioned way and the muscles in his fingers are cramping something fierce, but he had twenty some-odd pages worth of notes about a story he'd never realized he'd wanted – nae, needed – to write. Getting up, Merlin stretches and as muscles and ligaments protest, he feels every one of his fifty-two years.

And conversely, he feels as energized as a twenty year old.

Writing this story isn't going to be easy. If it's going to be worth the time and the effort, Merlin's going to have to revisit his past. He's going to have to get out there, see what the world he'd once inhabited is now like. He can't fake his way through the story; that would demean both the words he'll be writing and the ones he's already written.

Getting back into that world is going to be the biggest obstacle. He'd let most of his contacts go by the wayside over the years and honestly, after thirty years out of high society, it would be a strange thing to call up a former client and ask for a reference.

But there's one person who might be able to help. At first, she'd been a client, then she'd been his agent, and eventually, a good friend.

Victoria might be on her fourth husband, one who delights in showing her off at all of the best London parties and making the services Merlin used to offer superfluous, but she just might be willing to help. After all, she knows all of his worst secrets.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Henry, darling, I want to introduce you to Cynthia. She's Lord Holscomb's eldest granddaughter, and I think you'll have quite a bit in common. Cynthia just graduated from LSE with a degree in Finance. I'm sure she'd love to hear about your little business. Maybe she can offer you some advice."

Harry winces as his mother, Lady Margaret Hart, Dowager Marchioness of Cardoc, introduces yet another infant to be a potential bride. Harry, who would rather pull out his own fingernails than voluntarily spend time with his mother, is still and always will be a gentleman. He refuses to mention the hundred-million pound business empire he's built, but he does the pretty, asking the girl a few meaningless questions and betraying no interest in her answers. When the conversation dies an ugly death, Harry offers to get cold drinks for the ladies. "It is rather warm and you must be getting thirsty," he says in that helpless way all Englishmen do when they can't think of any other way to escape the clutches of an importuning mother.

Of course, both women turn down his offer, but after a few more minutes of desultory conversation, Cynthia excuses herself and leaves Harry standing next to his mother and cursing the day he'd been born.

"Henry Reginald Hart, what are you thinking, being so rude? Cynthia Nash is perfect for you. Young and reasonably intelligent, good breeding. Her sisters have already produced several sons. You're not getting any younger, and neither am I." Margaret hisses at him as if he's six and has just gotten jam all over his Sunday finery just before going to church.

"Mother, we've been through this before. I am not interested in getting married or providing you with more grandchildren to torment. Peter has done his duty to the title several times over; Cardoc does not need any fruit from my loins. The title has passed to the second son or the eldest nephew more times than it has gone in a direct line."

Margaret doesn't seem to care. "That's because the Hart lineage is full of deviants. If you don't marry, people will talk and say you're another one. I don't want my friends whispering that you're – " Margaret purses her lips and whispers, her voice filled with hatred, "a homosexual, like your father. That would be unbearable."

Harry ignores the comment about his father. " It's 2019, I am a flaming faggot, and I couldn't give two shits about what your friends have to say about that."

Margaret turns dark red at Harry's vulgarity. "You are a disappointment to me. You always have been."

"I know, Mother. You've been telling me that since I was five. Nothing has changed in the interim."

"Don't think this discussion is over, Henry. I will see you married and bred like a stallion if necessary."

"You can try, Mother, but unless you plan on having your girl of choice tie me done, force feed me Viagra, and rape me, it's never going to happen."

"We shall see about that." Margaret sniffs and looks away, muttering, "Why couldn't Peter have been the eldest?"

Harry often wishes the same thing. He smiles and nods at a passing couple, bracing himself for a few more miserable hours at this godforsaken garden party.

The afternoon's tedium is only relieved by the surprising attendance of Viscount Morton and his new husband, Eggsy. Harry will forever take delight in the couple; he'd introduced Percival to Eggsy a few years ago at a Kingsman Media holiday fete. To Harry's surprise his rather quiet corporate attorney and his ebullient senior fiction editor had hit it off, began dating, and six months ago, had an exceedingly romantic winter wedding in Wales.

Margaret glares at Percival and Eggsy before excusing herself with barely concealed disdain, leaving Harry to enjoy the company of the newlyweds.

Eggsy watches the Dowager Marchioness' retreat. "Don't think your mum likes me, Haz."

"No, my dear boy, she does not. She doesn't care for your husband, either."

Percival lets out a small huff of laughter. "Lady Hart doesn't like our kind, darling."

"Queers?"

"Yes, but that's incidental. Lady Hart despises happily married people."

Harry nods. "My mother had dedicated her life to making my father as miserable as possible, and now that he's passed on, she's working on destroying my brother Peter's marriage, except his wife has demonstrated both her intelligence in refusing to kowtow to Margaret, as well as her fecundity in giving Peter two health and well-adjusted boys. In gratitude, I've banned Margaret from residing in any place that is currently occupied by my brother and his family, which usually includes the family seat in Cornwall."

Eggsy's jaw drops. "You can do that? Keep your mum from your family home?"

Percival chimes in. "One of the privileges of the aristocracy, Eggsy. Harry, as the Marquess, has absolute fiat over who can reside in any of the properties attached to the title. It's not unusual to require the dowager to reside elsewhere, but that typically when the new lord has a wife and family. Of course Margaret had protested and threatened legal action. Harry ended up taking her to court."

Harry adds, "Needless to say, my relationship with my mother – never good – has soured even further." Harry doesn't mind that one bit, just as he hadn't minded paying Margaret a considerable sum in settlement of her dowager rights. It had given his brother and his family a less stressful life, one without Margaret's constant needling and belittling and controlling negativism, a gift that Peter still thanks him for.

It also means that Harry has to contend with Margaret far more often than he likes. They both reside in London and move within similar social circles. Harry has steadfastly refused to become a hermit because of his mother, but today's encounter is making him rethink that decision. At least he has Percival and Eggsy to relieve the stress and send Margaret running for the hills.

Eggsy sips his drink and makes a face. "I'd give my left nut for something that doesn't taste like artificially sweetened horse piss."

Percival shakes his head, "I told you not to take the Campari and orgeat, it's disgusting."

"But it looked so pretty." Eggsy holds up the glass to the sunlight, admiring the pink and white shading.

"It looks like something your sister might make in art class." Percival relieves Eggsy of his glass and asks Harry if he'd like something cold.

"You've spent too much time in the States, Percival. We don't _do_ ice here. But if there's something sparkling on offer, I wouldn't mind a glass."

Percival nods and disappears back towards the bar tent.

"Shall we take a seat, my dear boy?" Harry points towards a recently vacated table with three chairs. That it happens to be under an ancient spreading oak is a significant attraction.

To Harry's surprise, Eggsy remembers some of Harry's coaching and waits until Harry is seated before taking his own. For that, Harry forebears to criticize when Eggsy removes his hat and drops it onto the table. Nor does he say anything when Eggsy drops the f-bomb.

"I feel like I'm in some fucking Jane Austen novel."

"These things are tedious. I'm surprised to see you and Percival here today. I know it's not his sort of thing, and it certainly isn't yours."

"Not in the least, we could be sunning ourselves by the swimming pool at Morton Crescent, but Perce had to talk with a few people today – something about some property he wants to invest in, and since he's heading to Hong Kong the day after tomorrow, it would have to be today or a month from today. He told me I could stay home, but honestly, if we're going to be separated for so long, I'd rather suffer in a fancy linen suit and an Eton collar for a few hours than be all by myself in swim trunks."

"I'm sorry about Hong Kong, but Percival is the only one I trust with the negotiations."

"Don't feel guilty, Haz. Perce has worked for you long before we hooked up and had got hitched. You need him and this trip ain't something that can be delegated. Helps that he's fluent in Cantonese and Mandarin and has a poker face that would put James Bond to shame."

"You're far too generous, Eggsy. Don't think I would be if I were in your shoes."

"You're not getting off scot-free. I'm also taking two weeks' out of the office and going to Hong Kong for the East Asian Book Fair. And you're paying for my airfare, first class.

"Of course. There is a reason why Percival is going in advance of the fair, and your presence there will make it a working holiday. Everyone benefits." Harry had been dropping hints about Eggsy going to Hong Kong for weeks, and with good reason. In a few years, Harry wants Eggsy to take over as the Acquisitions Editor, and exposure to this side of the business will be important for his professional growth.

Percival comes back with three glasses of Prosecco and they spend the rest of the party talking business, although Percival does excuse himself when he sees the people he'd come to the party to talk with. A few young women stop by, likely sent this way by Margaret. Harry is polite, Eggsy lets his Estuary accent bloom, and the girls take their leave, confused and distressed.

"My mother is nothing but persistent."

"You're a catch, you know. Titled, wealthy, fit as fuck. Surprised that more birds ain’t flocking to you."

"I've never been shy about my sexuality, so most of my peers know the score."

"But have you ever actually brought a bloke to one a party? Always been surprised that you don't have a bloke of your own."

Harry shakes his head. "No, I haven't a serious relationship in years – not since before bringing a same-sex partner would mean social death. And there are still too many hostesses of my mother's mindset who would cut me if I did that."

"But what about the fundraiser things, the ones where all they want is your money? You go to a lot of those."

"I would still need a partner or at least be in the kind of relationship where inviting someone as my plus-one isn't going to create expectations. I'm not the marrying kind, you know."

Eggsy leans forward and whispers, "You need a professional escort, Haz."

"A what?" Harry doesn't think his friend is talking about a prostitute.

Eggsy rolls his eyes. "Not _that_ kind of escort. Someone who looks good in a tux, speaks with a post accent, can do all the social bits. Someone who will make it clear that you're gay and not interested in dating birds. You know, a kind of reverse walker."

"Walker? A street walker?"

"No – a society walker. A guy who's paid to accompany society birds to parties, because their husbands won't."

The lightbulb goes on. "Ah, you think I should find someone who will pretend to be my date, you mean."

"Well, I hadn't been thinking of you fake-dating anyone, but it's the same kind of thing. Thought if you could find someone who was a pro in high society, it'd be easier and less stressful on you."

"Unfortunately, I don't believe that that kind of gentleman doesn't exist for the likes of me. They are escorting women of a certain age and everyone knows the score."

"Well, maybe someone knows someone – "

"Knows who, darling?" Percival has returned to the table.

Eggsy explains Harry's conundrum. Sadly, Percival confirms what Harry has just said. "I don't believe that professional society dates are generally available for gay men. Harry's going to have to find someone who will be willing to pretend to be in a relationship and have no actual expectations."

Harry spots his mother glaring at him from a nearby table and cuts the conversation short. "I think I'm going to make my farewells before things turn nasty."

He wishes Percival safe travels, tells Eggsy that he'll see him at the office on Monday, and makes his escape. When the valet delivers his vintage roadster, Harry doffs his jacket and tie, rolls up his sleeves and enjoys the summer breeze all the way back to London.

As the sun goes down and unwilling to let even a moment of a such a fine day go to waste, Harry takes his dog, Mr. Pickle, for a walk in Hyde Park, circling the lake twice before heading home. The thing is, he can't quite get Eggsy's suggestion out of his mind.

Showing up at society functions with an appropriate male companion on his arm – someone who could plausibly be a future Mr. Hart – would put his mother's machinations to rest. It might also send her spinning into her grave, something that Harry finds he has little regret about.

Unfortunately, he really doesn't know anyone who could do this for him. Harry has hundreds of contacts throughout society, but London society is too close-knit, almost incestuous, and he can't think of anyone who could credibly fill the role.

Pity.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of backstory for both Merlin and for Harry.

"Victoria, thank ye for meeting me." Merlin stands and pulls out a chair for his lunch companion.

"It's been way too long, darling. Just because I've retired didn't mean we had to cut our ties."

"True. I had just figured ye'd want to enjoy your new husband without any old ghosts hanging about."

"You're not an old ghost, just a client who became a friend. Ivan isn't the jealous sort. But I do appreciate the courtesy." Victoria preens just a bit. At almost seventy, she is clearly proud that she can still turn heads.

A waiter comes by and Victoria orders a Campari and soda, Merlin orders just a soda; he's learned that it's always best to keep his wits intact when talking with Victoria.

"Shall we faff about, talk about the weather and Brexit and how delightful the South of France is this time of year, or shall we cut to the chase."

Merlin retorts, "The South of France is too damn hot this time of year."

"So, it's to be the weather and Brexit first, darling?"

Merlin's oddly reluctant to plunge into the reason for this meeting. "I'm sick of talking about Brexit and the weather sucks, so how about ye tell me how ye and Ivan are doing? Have ye worn him to a nub yet?"

Victoria's laugh is like a crystal bell. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know."

"Actually, no, not to that level of detail I wouldn't."

"Ivan is fine, busy trying to corner the seaside property market – it's like he's playing Monopoly, only set in Brighton."

"Brighton?"

"He seems to find the place rather enchanting. I can't imagine why, but it's his money to burn." Victoria shrugs elegantly.

"It's a pleasant place, certainly. I've holidayed there a few times."

Victoria gives him a knowing look. Brighton has a certain reputation in the gay community and Merlin had never been shy about finding lovers among the somewhat-tanned beach-goers.

"So you are doing well?"

Merlin sighs and waits to answer while the waiter returns with their drinks. He takes a sip of the sparkling water and listens to the young man recite the day's specials, settling on the poached Dover sole; Victoria picks the same. Once the server departs, Victoria pounces.

"What does that sigh mean?"

Merlin tells the truth. "I'd been a bit blocked of late. Hadn't been able to write anything reasonably readable in about six months."

"It happens to every writer, my dear. You've just had a run longer than most."

"I know I've been lucky, but this dry spell is coming at a very bad time. My contract is almost done and I'm afraid that if I have any significant delays, it's not going to get renewed."

"I could tell you that your publisher would be an idiot, throwing the baby out with the bathwater, but publishers generally are idiots. Have you thought about ditching the traditional houses and self-publishing?"

Merlin shudders. "I'd sooner hang up my keyboard."

"Who is your publisher these days?"

"I'm still with Kingsman. Letting you talk me into moving there had been one of the best decisions I ever made."

Victoria nods, "I can now say that I had my doubts that Kingsman would survive Chester King's short-sighted management, but I'd gotten you in just as King was on his way out. The new management had been hungry for new authors and they'd been eager to give ones with a proven track record long term deals, something I'd shamelessly taken advantage of. I've keep my eye on Kingsman and it's nice to see that they've managed to become profitable without losing their soul. So, either they'd be happy to take the risk or they'll be extremely conscious of the bottom line. What does Kay say?"

"Kay's no longer my editor. She retired a few years ago, took a buyout from the new management and moved to the Costa del Sol. My new editor is a young lad – fresh out of university and brighter than a Covent Garden marquee. He's certain that Kingsman will renew, even suggested I take a bit of a sabbatical, but I'm not sure that's wise."

"Understandable. But what can I do for you?"

Merlin rubs the back of his neck. "I actually have an idea for a new novel, something that could be very good. Or very disastrous. And I'll need yer help with it."

Victoria raises an elegantly arched eyebrow and leans back in her seat. "I am intrigued."

"I'm thinking about writing a sequel to _Walking Out_ – Stephen's story, set thirty years later. But the problem is that I have not been in that world since I wrote the book. Have no clue what society looks like these days. And definitely not through the eyes of a professional escort."

"You know, people had wondered for a little while, if you had been the one to write _Walking Out_ , especially since you'd disappeared from the scene a few months before it had been published. And you have certainly been missed. Many of your former 'clients' – " Victoria makes air quotes around that word, "still speak of you with great fondness. Charlotte keeps asking me if I've heard from you, and how you are doing. Her brother is equally curious."

Merlin doesn't quite know what to say. The Honorable Charlotte Quimby had been more than slightly neurotic, addicted to cocaine, and kinkier than Caligula. Her brother, Viscount Armbrook, had been bent as a paperclip and been equally fond of the white powder, especially when sprinkled over a dick or dusted on someone's arsehole. Merlin shudders; he had fucked Armbrook just once and still deeply regrets it. 

"Don't worry, darling, I won't tell them I've talked to you. But if you are going to ask me what I think you are going to ask me, you may not be able to avoid them."

"I've just realized that."

"I hope that won't dissuade you from your plans."

"No. Once I started thinking about it, I haven't been able to stop. I have the whole thing – all of the major plot points – outlined. It's going to gnaw at my brains until it gets written, which is a relief. I thought I'd used up my lifetime's allotment of words."

The waiter comes with their meals and Merlin tells Victoria his ideas for the sequel. She offers a few excellent suggestions and Merlin pulls out a small notebook to write them down.

Victoria is extremely amused. "You haven't changed one bit in all of these years. Everything is fodder for your hungry brain."

Merlin considers that statement and has to agree. "No, I don't think I have changed and this feels good. I haven't felt this energized by an idea in a very long time."

Victoria seems pleased by that. "You are absolutely right; you will need to get back out there, if just for a little while. The scene has definitely changed. Young women aren't afraid to show up alone, or with their girlfriends. They travel in packs from one party to another and they don't seem to need or want men to spoil their fun. They're the bright young things, my grandmother would call them. Fierce and fearless. But the middle aged women, they still want the security of companionship. Not everyone is blessed with a man like Ivan, who loves showing up and showing off."

"Showing ye off, too."

"Of course." Victoria finishes her drink. "Now, we will need a plan of attack to get you back out there, credibly. I think I can convince Ivan to let you accompany me for a few months. There are invitations I turn down because he's not available. You can be my plus-one for those. You still have that lovely tuxedo?"

"It has to be well out of fashion by now. I'll have to have a new one made."

"Perhaps, but a good suit is timeless."

Merlin has his doubts. "I haven't put it on in nearly thirty years, it may not even fit."

"Take it to your tailor and see what they have to say. The social season will be getting underway in a month or so; another bespoke tuxedo will take far too long to finish – and don't even think about buying something ready-made. That suit had been your trademark; you don't want to spoil the mystique."

Merlin isn't all that sure he agrees with Victoria, but she wouldn't steer him wrong. "I'll accompany ye to a few parties, make some connections and gather material. By the time the season ends, I should have what I need and can disappear back into the woodwork."

"Or you show your face for most of the summer season so people don't automatically make the connection between you and the new book, _then_ you do your disappearing act."

Merlin sighs. "I guess ye're right, and I'd hate for there to be any blowback on ye."

"Oh, my reputation can withstand a little blowback. After all, I do love being the center of attention."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"These numbers are certainly impressive." Harry double checks a few figures and confirms that Eggsy's math is correct. "Adam MacLean is certainly versatile – six different pen names, eight different genres. Two books a year, each a reliable money-maker." Harry looks at the names again. "I think he's one of my favorite writers – I adore Davina Gallup and had no idea that a man had been writing them. 'Her' Regencies are some of the best of the genre." Harry's never been ashamed to admit how much he loves romance novels.

"We have one in the pipeline. If you want, I can send you an advance reader copy."

Harry nods. "That would be lovely. Now, why are you bringing all of the information about MacLean to my attention?"

"He's having a bit of a dry spell. He's on his last book of his current deal, and is worried that his contract's not going to be renewed. We'd met and talked last week, and I'd suggested that he might take some time off. Thought I'd clear it with you."

"Eggsy, you own your author list. If you feel it's in Kingsman's best interest to give a writer a bit of a break, then you should do it. You don't need my approval."

Eggsy nods. "Okay, then I'm going to let Adam MacLean take a six month sabbatical. But I got to makes sure with you that it won't affect his current contract or his new deal."

Harry nods, "That's the way I taught you. Things that are in your purview don't need my approval, but you're right to confirm anything that will impact a contract. And given the data you've provided about MacLean – and his half-dozen pen names – I see no reason why a slight delay on a genre title would affect his contract negotiations. We'd be foolish not to renew when he's such a moneymaker."

Eggsy posture relaxes. "Thanks, Harry. I like MacLean – he'd a good bloke and this is the first time he's been late with anything. Would be a shame to penalize him when he's done so well for Kingsman."

"Yes, it would. And the more he worries about what might go wrong probably means the less likely he'll be able to write."

"Yeah – creatives are tender and delicate souls. They need a bit of coddling sometimes. You taught me that."

"Well, I don't think I used those exact words, but yes – that's the essence of it. Kingsman Media is nothing without its creatives. And you're one of them, too."

"Me? I'm just an editor. You know what they say, those who can't write, edit."

Harry chides Eggsy for that. "I've always thought that George Bernard Shaw should have been taken out behind the woodshed and shot for that aphorism. Your bastardization of it isn't worthy of you or your profession. Editing isn't just a technical exercise, it involves deep creative thinking and judgment. Don't ever forget that."

"Sorry, Haz."

"Don't run yourself down, my boy. You are utterly brilliant at what you do."

Eggsy shrugs, but his nonchalance is betrayed by his words. "Always wanted to write."

This is the first time Harry's heard this from Eggsy. "So, why don't you?"

"Dunno. Don't think I have anything interesting to say."

"Is that the editor talking or the scared young man who's afraid of failure?"

The hot flush that sweeps up Eggsy's cheeks gives Harry his answer. But there's no need to belabor the subject, Eggsy's a grown man and he'll make his own decisions. "Now, is there anything else you need to tell me before you head to Hong Kong?"

"Nope. We've gone over all of the authors I manage, and you got my notes on a few queries I think may be worth following up on."

"Then we're set." Harry gets to his feet and Eggsy does the same. "You have a good time in Hong Kong. Make lots of contacts and don't forget to have some fun."

"Thanks, Haz. I won't. Looking forward to getting my husband back. Weird that we've only been married six months, but I can't sleep well if he isn't in bed next to me."

"I'm sure Percival feels the same way. He's been counting the hours until you join him." That's the truth. Every conversation he's had with his lawyer since the trip began had ended with Percival trying to cajole Harry into letting Eggsy come over a week early.

Eggsy floats out of Harry's office on a cloud of newlywed bliss and Harry had to admit that he's envious. He's never come close to what Percival and Eggsy have and never thought he'd want it.

Coming of age in the plague years, Harry had not indulged in the free-for-all sexuality of the late 70s and early 80s. That isn't to say he'd hidden in the closet; on the contrary, he'd come out and stayed out since his university days. It had helped that his father had been gay, but too afraid to do anything about it, marrying for the sake of the family name since he had no younger brother to take up the title or provide heirs. Unlike his mother, Harry's father hadn't demanded that Harry deny his sexuality, but he'd begged him to be safe and discreet.

Now, on the other side of fifty, Harry finds himself a bit jealous of Eggsy and Percival's happiness, and the happiness of his other gay friends and acquaintances. It's ironic that Eggsy had suggested that Harry fake-date someone to get his mother off his back; the problem is that Harry doesn't even know how to real-date someone.

He finds himself actually longing for the world of Jane Austen – and Davina Gallup – where relationships start with a most proper introduction. Now, it's all done with apps and dick pics and twee little descriptions – summing up what you are and what you'd want in a partner in a hundred-forty characters or less. Harry actually considers finding a matchmaker, but anyone he meets that way will come with expectations – that Harry would be willing to marry, to share the most intimate parts of his life.

That terrifies him.

Harry hasn't lived with anyone since his college days, and that had been in the most platonic sense – six young and mostly studious men sharing a house near the university for a few terms. Harry hadn't been friends with any of them and can't remember their names, except for one – a tall fellow with the improbable nickname of Merlin. Harry had always thought that bizarre, since the guy was Scots, not Welsh. In the year they'd shared quarters, Harry might have exchanged a half-dozen sentences with him and thirty some-odd years later, Harry can't even form a decent recollection of his face.

Up until now, Harry has been content as a single man. Occasional meaningless encounters with carefully vetted men, none of whom have any expectations of anything more than a meaningless fuck on a good hotel room bed. He feels no shame in paying for it when the urge hits – which has been less frequent has the years have passed.

It's seeing his friends' obvious happiness that makes him want something more, but that will pass, like seasonal allergies or a sour stomach.

His assistant, Amelia, interrupts the melancholy introspection, with a reminder that he has a meeting with the manager at Kingsman Tailors, and his car is waiting.

Kingsman Media isn't the only company Harry owns. The first company Harry had purchased had been the bespoke tailor the men in his family had patronized for generations. Shortly after he'd finished university, he'd decided to treat himself to a new suit. Andrew, the head tailor and manager of the shop had taken him aside to tell him that this would likely be the last work they'd be able to do for him. The old owner had passed away and the heirs had little interest in keeping the business going. All of the current orders would be completed and the operation would wind down. It seemed that the company actually owned the potentially profitable piece of Savile Row real estate and wanted to sell it, which would be easier without an incumbent tenant. Rather than mourn the loss of an institution, Harry had seen it as an opportunity. He'd purchased the property and the business, giving the tailor shop a ninety-nine year lease at market rates.

In addition to Kingsman Media and Kingsman Tailors, there's a small custom motorcar builder, an architectural firm, and an industrial design bureau, but he doesn't take a hands-on approach with any of them, although he is the titular managing director. He's appointed competent leadership to run the businesses and avoids interfering in the day-to-day operations, as long as they continue to bring in money and following the guiding principles he's set for all of his businesses.

Harry just prefers to focus on Kingsman Media, where he had his first job after graduating from Cambridge. Even though he'd been the Earl of Wortham since the day he'd been born, Harry had never used the courtesy title and had been quick to discourage people who did. Margaret had been furious, but his father had no objections. The Marquess had always encouraged him to stand on his own and not rely on the title or the wealth he'd eventually inherit. So Harry had applied for a job, and left off the critical information – after all, Hart isn't an uncommon name - and started in the mailroom at Kingsman. He'd kept quiet about the title and worked his way up the ranks, eventually becoming the heir-apparent to Chester King, who'd owned the majority stake in the company.

Harry and Chester had fought hammer and tongs over the direction of the company, and Harry eventually had given up, refusing to keep pouring his heart and soul into a business that would fail within a decade because of Chester's short-sighted and old-fashioned mindset. He'd walked out and focused his attention on buying small creative companies that needed capital to thrive. But Harry had never lost track of Kingsman Publishing, and as it began its death spiral, with authors fleeing like rats running out of a sinking ship, he'd swooped in, bought out all of the minority shareholders and made it impossible for Chester to hold onto what he had.

As much as Harry prefers the hands off approach, there are times when he has to step in, like today's meeting at the tailors. Amelia hands him a briefing packet as he leaves the office and he has just enough time to peruse the the essentials of the problem before his car pulls up to the building on Savile Row.

Harry doesn't stand - or rather, sit - on ceremony and is out of the Rolls before his chauffeur has put the car into park. This whole thing is an annoyance. He'd asked Andrew to hire Charles Hesketh because he felt sorry for the boy, but the boy isn't a boy anymore, but a grown man who has frittered away every opportunity handed to him. Any maybe that's the problem, he's never strived for a single thing. So now, Harry has to do damage control with the staff, and they will have to deal with customers who might be inclined to believe Charles because of his aristocratic connections.

The shop is a bastion of tradition, except for the cut of the jackets on display; he doesn't think anything has changed since his father took him here for his first suit when he had turned fourteen. That occasion had been momentous not just for the tailoring. Afterwards, the Marquess had taken him to lunch and explained why things are always so difficult at him and asked Harry if he could forgive his father for being something less than a true gentleman.

_"You are absolutely a gentleman, sir." Harry is outraged at his father's self-deprecation._

_"No, son. I am afraid I am not. A gentleman does not go back on his word, especially one as important as a wedding vow."_

_As young as Harry is, he understands what is father is saying. "You're having an affair, sir?" His mother might be a difficult woman, but as his father had just said, a gentleman does not break his wedding vow._

_The Marquess drops his shoulders and frowns. "It's not that straightforward."_

_"Either you are or you aren't having sex with another woman." Harry is deliberately trying to provoke his father with the crudity._

_"Not with another woman, son."_

_Harry blinks as his father's words register. "You're gay?"_

_The Marquess seems startled by Harry's question. Or perhaps his quiet and respectful tone. "You're not outraged that your father is a queer?"_

_Harry shakes his head. "It kind of makes sense, sir. Mother has never shouted at you about the housemaids, but she's insisted that none of the male staff lodge at the estate."_

_"Your mother seems to think I'm a veritable satyr, sticking my prick in anything with a cock." When Harry flushes, his cheeks go burning hot, his father apologies. "I've done my duty to the family name, and your mother has given me two very fine sons. But before we'd married, I'd told her the truth."_

_"She knew, and still married you?"_

_"Yes, Harry. Margaret knew the score weeks before she said her vows. She'd told me that as long as I gave her two children, was discreet, brought no diseases home, and of kept my paramours out of the house, she would marry me and let me live my life. I know it's not gentlemanly to speak ill of one's spouse, but your mother had been more interested in the title than my loyalty. I kept my vows until after your brother was born, and then we went our separate ways."_

_Harry remembers his father being away from home for months at a time, his mother raging at both Harry and his brother, practically blaming them for her husband's absence. "I don't think you've broken your vows, sir. Not if Mother knew the truth when you married her."_

_"Why are you so understanding?" His father is genuinely puzzled at Harry's lack of anger._

_Harry looks at his plate and bites his lip. He hadn't expected to have this conversation with his father for many years, if ever. The Marquess has always been a distant figure in his life, kindly and attentive when he's present at the estate, but with Harry away at school, he probably sees his father a handful of times a year. "I'm gay, too."_

_To his credit, the Marquess hadn't told Harry he's too young to know this about himself, and the hot-house atmosphere of an all-boys public school like Winchester may make him see things in a slightly distorted light. Instead, they finish their lunch and take a long walk in Hyde Park. The Marquess gives Harry "the talk" – about men and boys and sex, and the care he must take with his body and his name. "The world is getting a bit friendlier to our kind – they won't hang us or make us do hard labor for our sins – but that doesn't mean we will be loved and welcome with open arms. Your rank will give you some protection, but only to a certain point. If you flaunt your orientation, you will find yourself leading a very lonely life."_

_"So what do you do?"_

_"You find someone who shares your desires and is willing to live a quiet life. You will have to make up your own mind about marrying, unless Peter is queer, too. It's possible."_

_"Possible, sir?"_

_"The Hart men have been queer for generations, Harry. My grandfather were notoriously indiscreet and my great-grandsire's diary is the most disgustingly lewd thing I've ever read. My father was a bit more circumspect, but still, it had been something of a miracle that my mother had ever gotten pregnant."_

_"So, you've been expecting this?"_

_"I'd hoped you'd be the exception. This isn't an easy life."_

The memory of that conversation lingers like good cologne on an old handkerchief. Even after so many years, Harry still misses his father. It's an evil thought, but he still wonders why it couldn't have been his mother who'd succumbed to a bad bout of pneumonia, instead.

Harry takes his time in the shop, looking at the fabrics on display. One of the younger tailors is managing the front desk and doesn't recognize him, which doesn't bother Harry in the least.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Is Andrew with a client?"

"Yes, sir. He should be done in a bit. Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?"

"No, but thank you." Harry considers telling the young man that he'll wait for Andrew in the boardroom, but before he makes up his mind, the door to Fitting Room One opens. Andrew follows the client out, but Harry's attention is captured by the client – tall, bald, and – as Eggsy would say – fit as fuck. If Harry would ever admit to having a type, this man would be it.

But Harry's certainly not going to introduce himself to a total stranger in a tailor shop for no reason; that would be the height of bad manners. He does, however, catch the gentleman's eye and nods, acknowledging the moment.

Andrew must have said something to the young tailor, who approaches and asks Harry to accompany him to the boardroom. There's no apology for not recognizing Harry, although there's an uncomfortable level of obsequiousness when he again asks if he can fetch any refreshments, this time calling Harry, "my lord".

Harry's tempted to ask the tailor to bring that extraordinarily handsome man upstairs and lock the door, but he resists and takes a seat at the head of the table and waits patiently for Andrew to join him.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is curious about the man he'd encountered at the tailors - he's certain it's his old Cambridge flatmate, Harry Hart. Andrew, the tailor, confirms that it is indeed, Harry Hart, Marquess Cardoc - and the title is a huge surprise to Merlin. It leaves him a bit forlorn - Harry's still too far out of his league to even dream about.
> 
> Harry, for his part, is still contending with his insufferable mother's attempts at matchmaking. Only this time, she's introducing Harry to a young woman he knows too well, Roxanne Morton.

When Merlin walks out of Kingsman, he has no clue what the tailor has told him about either the tuxedo they are remaking or the new suit that Merlin's ordered. Instead, all he can think is that the impossible has occurred, Harry Hart is better looking at fifty-something than he'd been at twenty-something. And Harry Hart at twenty-something had been utterly gorgeous.

Merlin had recognized the man instantly; it hadn't been that Hart hadn't stopped aging, but that time had merely refined what had been there all along. He'd kept his hair – and Merlin does feel the tug of jealousy – and he's still wearing glasses, but his body has filled out, giving him broad shoulders and an almost impossibly trim waist highlighted by a beautifully cut double-breasted suit. Merlin's fairly certain it's one of Kingsman's better creations. It also does a magnificent job of highlighting those beautiful, endlessly long legs. As Hart had retreated past the front desk, Merlin couldn't help but stare, the suit jacket was just the perfect length to give him a teasing glimpse of a perfect ass.

As sure as he is about the origin of the suit, Merlin's also certain that despite the nod Hart had given him when their eyes met, Hart hadn't recognized him.

Merlin isn't the least bit surprised at that. At nineteen, when he'd shared that house with Hart and a bunch of other students, he'd had a full head of hair and wore thick-framed glasses, favored baggy jumpers and loose jeans he'd buy at a charity shop because it had seemed the cool thing to do. He'd also had spots and hunched to minimize his height. College-age Merlin had been as ungraceful as a newborn kitten and practically swallowed his tongue on the very rare occasions when Hart, already a god amongst men, had spoken to him.

That hadn't stopped Merlin from beating off in the shower or in bed to thoughts of Harry Hart, naked. He'd constructed elaborate fantasies, fueled by hormones and a love of romance novels, all starring Hart doing all kinds of perverted things to him.

Merlin still has those old journals and he wonders if he should dig them out and rework them; Eggsy had once asked if he'd be interested in contributed to Kingsman's new line of same-sex romances. Maybe after he finishes the sequel.

But it's the the thought of his current project that propels Merlin home and back to work. He's been re-reading _Walking Out_ , taking notes and building out the new novel. But as he reads, Merlin finds himself slightly embarrassed at this effort; the storytelling is good, but there's something a bit repellent about the way it's written. Maybe it's the over-the-top descriptions of sex and drug use, the snide tone of the narrator, who doesn't hesitate to employ horrifically insulting slang - racist, sexist and homophobic, despite his own orientation. It's a little too much a product of its time.

But as embarrassed as Merlin is by the thirty year old book, he's also proud of it. The problems are only on surface, and it's not as if he's re-writing the story. The new book still focuses on Stephen, the hero, who is now in his mid-fifties. He is far removed from the person who'd fucked his way through London society. He hasn't been part of that life for a long while, but his life has taken a sharp and sudden downward turn, and he needs a way to hold onto what he holds dear.

In a way, Stephen's re-emergence in London society mirrors Merlin's own, except that he isn't at risk for losing everything. Not only is he over his dry spell, Eggsy had contacted him and let him know that he has a no questions asked six-month extension for the last book on his current contract and that Kingsman Media is anxious to pin down the terms of his new contract.

Merlin has to admit that this news has taken a real load off his mind - something he hadn't realized had been bothering him. Without having to worry that Kingsman is going to cut him loose, he feels like he can finally write. And write, he does.

But his brain isn't wholly focused on the words. Every once and a while, Merlin pauses and lets himself think of Harry Hart. He resists the call of a search engine, he doesn't want to find out that Hart is happily married with a football team's worth of children. That would spoil the fantasy.

Since he knows nothing about Hart, the man can be anything that suits Merlin's fancy. Right now, Harry Hart is starring in a nighttime fantasy set in the Regency era, where is a dashing nobleman with forbidden desires, and Merlin is his loyal steward, willing to do anything that would earn him a smile and a word of praise.

Or perhaps a night in his master's bed.

Two weeks pass and Merlin gets a call from Kingsman – the tailors, not the publishers – letting him know that his tuxedo and the new suit he'd order are ready for fitting. Merlin indulges in a bit of foolish hope about another encounter with Hart at the tailors, but this time they would actually talk to each other.

It is not to be – there is no sign of Harry Hart at the shop when Merlin arrives for his appointment. As Andrew checks the fit of the tuxedo, Merlin can't help himself and asks, "When I was here a few weeks ago, I thought I recognized an old acquaintance – a housemate from my days at Cambridge. It's been a long time and I not sure, but was that Harry Hart?"

Andrew hums and puts a pin in the waistband of the trousers Merlin's trying on. After an almost too-lengthy pause, he says, "Yes, I believe that Lord Hart had been in the shop when you had been in for your consultation."

"Lord Hart?" Merlin wonders if Andrew had somehow become privy to his nighttime fantasies.

"Yes, Lord Hart – he'd inherited his father's honors about fifteen years ago. He is the Marquess Cardoc now."

Merlin feels like an utter fool. "I did not know that. Hart hadn't used a courtesy title when we had been at university."

But rather than chide Merlin for his ignorance, Andrew just nods.

Merlin still feels extremely wrong footed and asks a stupid question. "He is a client of Kingsman?"

Andrew gives him a deprecating smile. "We do not discuss such private matters."

"Aye, of course not." Stung and a fair bit humiliated, Merlin is silent through the rest of the fitting.

Andrew, never inclined to idle chatter, is quiet until he's finished. "The suit will need a final fitting in another three weeks, but your tuxedo will be ready by Friday. Shall we deliver it?"

"Please. I would appreciate that." Still embarrassed, Merlin is reluctant to return to Kingsman any time soon. When he gets home, Merlin checks the Cardoc entry in Debrett's. The current title isn't ancient, no Marquessate is, but the subordinate titles are. The Earl of Wortham had been created by Elizabeth Tudor and granted to the seventh Viscount Harnley. That honor had been granted to Baron Hart by Henry II; the first Baron Hart had been ennobled by Stephen of Blois in 1149.

_Well, at least Hart's name does not go **all** the way back to the Doomsday Book,_ Merlin thinks with a touch of hysteria.

Before he closes the book, Merlin gives into temptation and reads just a little bit more about the current Marquess; he discovers that Harry isn't married and doesn't have any children. The heir presumptive is his brother, Peter, and Peter has two sons and a daughter. Merlin doesn't quite know what to make of that. Even in these modern times, nobility – especially from such an ancient family – is expected to marry and reproduce.

With discipline and determination, Merlin pushes all thoughts of the Marquess Cardoc out of his mind, not letting himself indulge in the slightest fantasy. He has a novel to write and there's a lot of work yet to be done.

Ten days after Kingsman delivers his tuxedo, Victoria calls and asks if he'd like to accompany her to a small event for some worthy charity. Merlin accepts; this is what he needs to do and he can't afford to be distracted by impossibilities.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry glances around the salon and sighs when he sees that his mother is in attendance and chatting up yet another girl she thinks could be a possible bride, but then he smiles as recognizes the young woman. He's a bit surprised that she's here since this isn't the type of function that she'd usually attend; he's also surprised that his mother is talking to her, as she is not the usual kind of young woman his mother would bother with. For one thing, the girl is too plainly dressed, her hair and makeup decidedly unfussy, her jewelry practically nonexistent. But that will not halt Margaret's intentions if her birth is good enough; it's just a pity that Margaret doesn't know what Harry does. He makes a beeline for the bar, well in need of some fortification before this particular encounter. At this rate, he's going to become a functioning alcoholic.

There's a man ahead of him, ordering "Two single malts, neat." His accent is elegantly Scottish and Harry is intrigued. From behind, he's reminded of the gentleman he'd seen at the tailors a few weeks ago – tall, bald, and well-built, or as Eggsy would say, fit as fuck.

Harry steps to one side, hoping to get a glimpse of the man's face in the mirror that backs the bar, but the shelf of bottles and glassware makes that impossible. He'll just have to hope the man turns around.

But the man doesn't so Harry steps up to the bar and orders a martini, Winston Churchill style. "Gin, not vodka, please. Stirred for ten seconds, while glancing at an unopened bottle of vermouth. Two olives."

The bartender is too well-trained to smirk, but Harry does feel a bit of derision coming from the man as his hand teasingly hovers over the vermouth bottle. He is also a man who appreciates a sense of humor and drops a twenty pound note into the tip jar.

Unfortunately, his mother finds him as he steps away from the bar and she is not alone. Harry doesn't bother to acknowledge Margaret, but he does smile at the young woman next to her. "Good evening, Roxanne. What a delightful surprise to find you here."

Roxanne turns her shoulder to Margaret and rolls her eyes. "Thank you, Lord Hart. It is a pleasure to see you, too."

Margaret interrupts the greeting, her voice smooth with self-satisfied pleasure. "Henry, you know this lovely young lady?"

"Of course, Mother. Roxanne is Percival Morton's niece. I've know her since she was in grade school. Roxanne had interned at Kingsman Media during the summer breaks when she had been studying at Oxford. Her last tenure at the company had been under my direct supervision and the work she did was excellent."

Margaret looks as if someone has broken wind when Harry first mentions Percival, but then she puffs up like pigeon in winter as he talks about his lengthy association with Roxanne, perhaps seeing a vision of the pair of them in connubial bliss. Harry smiles and tries not to enjoy this too much. "Of course, we danced at Percival and Eggsy's wedding, at least until Roxanne's girlfriend cut in."

Margaret's face falls; a difficult achievement, given the amount of Botox she's had. "Girlfriend?"

Roxanne grins. "I didn't mention my girlfriend when you interrogated me? My apologies, Lady Margaret, but Princess Tilde of Sweden and I been exclusive for about three years, since our last year at Balliol. While Lord Hart is a lovely gentleman, he doesn't hold much interest for a dyke like me."

Harry is enjoying himself too much and has to add, "Which is a good thing, since I'm queer as a three-pound note."

To Harry and Roxanne's relief, Margaret doesn't say a word, but her glare is lethal when she leaves them. "I don't see Her Highness, is everything all right?"

Roxanne sighs. "Tilde had to go back to Stockholm for the summer. There's a bit of an issue with the government leadership and she wants to observe the parliamentary process. Not that she can contribute, but her presence will be a stabilizing factor. I'll probably be joining her in September."

Harry nods. "And will the move be permanent?"

"Likely. Tilde's mother is making noise about a state wedding, since her father has been ill the past few years."

"Tilde has proposed?"

Roxanne nods. "And I've accepted, but we are keeping it a secret for a while." The Swedish people know that their Crown Princess is gay, but they haven't been introduced to her girlfriend yet, despite the length of time Tilde and Roxy have been dating, something unfathomable to Royal watchers here in England.

"Do you mind?"

"Not really. It's been like a very lengthy honeymoon. Once the announcement is made, my life won't be the same. But we love each other and that will make everything worth it."

Harry envies Roxanne, the same way he envies her uncle, Percival.

"Oh, look, there's Auntie V. I haven't seen her in months."

Harry turns and follows the direction of Roxanne's gaze. "Auntie V? Victoria Winslow is your aunt?"

Roxanne grins. "No, just an honorary aunt. She and my mum's mum had been school chums and she's my mum's godmother, which makes her like another grandmother to me. I guess you know her from the publishing business."

Harry nods. "Victoria had been a literary agent of much renown. Feared and adored by publishers on both sides of the Atlantic. The publishing world breathed a sigh of relief when she had retired."

A man is standing next to Victoria and Harry's heart beats just a bit faster; he's the one from the tailor shop. From the way Victoria's hand rests on the man's arm, they clearly know each other well. Harry asks Roxanne. "Do you know who is with her?"

"I was wondering the same thing; that certainly isn't Ivan. Shall we go over and demand an introduction?"

Harry offers Roxanne his arm. "Certainly."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Merlin meet again and quickly join forces against Lady Margaret.

Merlin is surprised to find himself enjoying his first evening back in London society, albeit at a small party that is merely formal – a good dark suit is required, not the tuxedo. Victoria is something of a fixture and people tend to come to her – all kinds, the newly wealthy, the old money, the noble and ignoble (and sometimes those are one and the same). He stands at her side, a quiet presence; Victoria plays the game perfectly and by simply introducing him as her dear friend, Merlin, she calls everyone's attention to him.

No one has the courage to ask where Ivan is, and it's possible that with her husband's reputation as an unreasonably possessive spouse, people might think Merlin is her bodyguard. Except that Victoria always includes Merlin in the conversation, asking for his opinion when pointing out an assortment of fashion mistakes and failed plastic surgeries in a delightfully catty tone. Merlin, for his part, is almost too diplomatic in his responses.

Victoria's tone changes when she spots a young woman being dragged across the room by a woman who's seen at least eight decades. "Now, what is Margaret doing with Roxanne?"

"Margaret?"

"The Dowager Marchioness Cardoc – a truly evil woman." Victoria laughs. "Ah, she's introducing Roxanne to her son, Harry. That is a pointless exercise and Margaret will not be happy with the results."

Merlin finally notices the tall gentleman who seems to be the target of the Dowager Marchioness and her captive. It's Harry Hart. Of course it is. Harry Hart, his old housemate and once and current idée fixe, is the Marquess Cardoc.

Merlin is curious, "Why is the introduction pointless?"

"Roxanne is a lesbian and Harry is gay. Once upon a time, that might have been a match made in heaven, but not in these more open-minded times. Besides, Roxanne is all but engaged and Harry is a confirmed bachelor."

"He plays the field?" Merlin wonders if there's a possibility for the two of them …

"No, not in the least. Harry has never made a secret of his sexuality, but he's never been romantically linked with anyone of note. One has to wonder about that."

_Yes, one does._

"Oh, look – Roxanne and Harry are heading this way."

Merlin wonders who this Roxanne is, but before he can ask, Victoria stands and pulls the young woman into her arms. "So good to see you, darling."

"And good to see you, Auntie V."

They chat for a few moments and Merlin learns that Roxanne is seriously dating a member of the Swedish Royal House. Merlin also does his best to ignore the gorgeous man standing next to Roxanne. It's nearly impossible and Merlin finally gives in and looks at Harry. To his shock, Harry smiles at him.

"I believe we nearly met a few weeks back, at Kingsman on Savile Row. You were leaving just as I was coming in."

Merlin nods and he struggles to find his words. Thankfully Victoria remembers her role in this farce and interrupts the moment. "Harry, you are looking absolutely wonderful. It is so unfair that men just get distinguished as the years go by, but women simply age."

"Unless they are timeless beauties like you."

"Very suavely put, my lord." Victoria is all arch smiles. "Harry, you sly dog. You seem to know my companion, Merlin?"

Hart raises an eyebrow. "We once met in passing, but have not yet been officially introduced." He holds out a hand and Merlin takes it. The grip is firm and warm and Merlin feels it all the way to his cock.

Hart says to Victoria, "Your companion? Where is Ivan?"

"Business matters will keep him out of London for the next few months, so my dear friend, Merlin, will be my companion for most of the social season."

Victoria pats Merlin on the arm and mentions that she wants to introduce Roxanne to some friends, leaving the two men to talk.

After Victoria sails off, young Roxanne in tow, Hart says, "Merlin, unusual name. And you're Scottish."

Merlin has heard this a million times. "It's an old nickname." He doesn't offer any other explanation.

Hart muses, "I once knew a Scottish Merlin."

Merlin can't quite believe what he's hearing.

"He'd been one of my housemates in my last year at Cambridge." Hart stares at him. "And I think he's you. Although I doubt you'd remember me."

"I'm actually surprised ye remember _me_. We didn't do much more than pass like ships in the night."

Hart grins and it's truly a beautiful sight. "That's true, but you kind of stuck in my mind. How are you doing these days?"

"Well enough, my lord."

"Oh, please, my name is Harry. None of this 'my lord' crap between us."

Merlin grins. "I have to admit that I thought I had recognized ye when we passed each other at the tailors. When I went back for a fitting, I'd asked Andrew if ye were Harry Hart. He confirmed and called ye the Marquess Cardoc. I had no clue that ye were a peer when I knew ye all those years ago. Ye seemed to be overly fond of New Wave, clove cigarettes and oversized coats, nothing like the son of a high-ranking peer."

"Yes, I was far too fashionable in a peak Eighties club kid style way. It was either that or pale pink jumpers and madras plaid trousers, Sloane Ranger style." Hart shudders dramatically.

"I didn't know ye were a peer until Andrew had mentioned ye were the Marquess Cardoc. Ye didn't have a courtesy title?"

Hart grimaces. "I did, but once I was old enough to understand just how big a divide the honorific created between me and the rest of the world, I refused to use it and frankly, I still don't like using a title."

"Ye'd prefer to be a plain 'mister'?"

"Yes, I would." Hart looks at him and there's a question in his eyes.

"What's the matter? Do I have something on my nose?"

"No." Hart's gaze drops and a light pink flush crosses his cheeks. "I don't remember seeing you at these events before."

"I've been out of society for a long time." Merlin goes with the cover story he and Victoria had agreed upon. "Victoria and I go back a while, and when she found out that Ivan would be away for most of the season, she asked if I'd step in. It's not as if Ivan would be jealous of _me_." Merlin knows he's being very unsubtle.

But it works. Hart seems instantly more at ease. "You spend a lot of time at these things? Parties and galas and whatnot?"

Merlin doesn't go into detail, "I used to."

Hart nods, satisfied with that answer. "I spent much of the Nineties trying to prove that I didn't need a title and aristocratic connections to make something of myself. I mostly avoided Society – which is probably why our paths never crossed again."

Merlin is charmed by the idea that Harry sees them as social equals and wants to tell Harry that he'd never been invited on his own merits, that he'd a professional escort. But he keeps quiet, it wouldn't do to blurt that out. So he just says, "I'd found that Society's charms wear thin after too much exposure. It's been decades since I've been out like this."

Hart doesn't quite frown. "Ah. But now you're back? "

Merlin prevaricates, "Not really. Like I'd said, Victoria doesn't like to go about to these things without a man on her arm. Which I find strange, since she is one of the fiercest, most independent women I've ever met."

"Are you talking about me, darlings?" Victoria picks the perfect moment to return, slipping between him and Hart, a cock blocker in haute couture. "And not giving me a chance to defend myself?"

"Not necessary, Victoria. Merlin is just telling me that he's come to your rescue this season." Hart pats Victoria's hand.

"Yes, he has."

Victoria gives them both a knowing look. "You two seem quite chummy."

Before Merlin can explain anything, Hart gets a hunted look on his face and says, "Shit. Shit buggering fuck."

Merlin is a bit scandalized by Hart's unexpected invective. Not that Merlin himself doesn't use those words on a regular basis, but he's shocked that a well-bred gentleman would employ words like that at a social event.

Victoria, however, is unfazed and asks, "What's the matter?"

"It's Margaret and look who she has in tow this time."

Merlin sees the elderly woman Victoria had pointed out earlier, but this time she's accompanied by a dark-haired girl who doesn't look old enough to be out after dark. They are heading right for them.

Hart turns to Merlin, "How would you like to be in my debt?"

Merlin doesn't think twice and asks, "What do you need?"

"Pretend to be my very affectionate boyfriend. Don't be fooled, Margot only looks like a child and plays that up. She's twenty-three, but has the well-honed killer instincts of a great white shark.

Merlin knows he shouldn't take advantage of Hart's distress, but the offer is irresistible. He slides an arm around Hart's waist and leans over, whispering, "How is this."

Hart turns to look at him and it's nice that they are practically eye-to-eye. Hart's lips quirk and he replies, his lips brushing against Merlin's cheek, "Just perfect.

"Henry." Lady Margaret's tone is flat and filled with disapproval.

Hart's grip is firm against Merlin's waist, but Merlin feels Hart trembling. His tone, though, is dry as the Sahara. "Mother."

"You remember Margot."

"Of course. Claudia's daughter."

Merlin watches this terse exchange like it's the final match at Wimbledon.

"You used to play with Claudia when you were children. You had been such good friends. Your father and I hoped you'd make a match with her. Margot is very much like her mother."

"You're not going to give up, are you, Mother? Twice in one night? You're going to keep humiliating yourself and these young girls you push at me." Hart nods to the woman. "My apologies on this sleeveless errand, my dear, but as lovely as you are, I am not interested."

Margot laughs, an appealing – and well-practiced – trill. "Oh, I don't care that you're a homosexual, Lord Hart. Frankly, I don't want or need you to fuck me. In fact, I'd prefer that we can go to a fertility clinic for impregnation. You're far too old for sex; I wouldn't want to become a dowager quite so soon."

Merlin is appalled at the graphic language pouring out of this woman's mouth. "Ye think such frankness is attractive?"

The girl turns her nose up at him. "Who are you and why should I care about your opinion?"

"Hart and I go back nearly thirty years, lass. Ye'd best be interested in my opinion as Hart is as dear to me as I am to him." Merlin's not the least bit ashamed of the lie.

The girl bites her lips and looks at Lady Margaret. "You didn't say that Lord Henry was in a relationship. I might be looking to marry for a title, but I do have some standards. I don't wish to be cast as the villain in some tabloid soap opera."

Margaret scowls. "Henry isn't so déclassé to be in love, that's for peasants. I don't know who this creature is, but my son isn't involved with anyone, especially not another man."

"Mother, you barely exist in my life and would have no reason to know whether or not I have a partner. Merlin and I have known each other since our time at Cambridge and I've done what Father has asked, and been discreet. For once and for all, stop pretending that I'm a heterosexual and just shy. I'm gay and far from shy, so now, please just bugger off."

What an amazing speech, Merlin thinks. To anyone listening, it would seem clear that he and Hart have been in a relationship since their Cambridge days, but Hart does not actually say that. It's all implication and inference and not a single lie.

Margot looks from Lady Margaret to her son, and then to him. Merlin tips his head and perceptively tightens his arm around Hart's waist. Margot smiles like she's just sucked on a lime and excuses herself.

Victoria, who's been uncharacteristically quiet during this entire exchange leans forward into Lady Margaret's space and says, "Shoo, you're not wanted here."

If looks could kill, Victoria would be six feet under, but Lady Margaret departs and everyone can breathe again.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry can't recall feeling so grateful to anyone in a very long time. "Merlin – I am in your debt. I don't know how I can repay you."

"Don't worry about it, Hart. It was no hardship. I'm just sorry that such a charade was needed. Yer mother – she's – "

"Awful, yes. She's always been like that, and has just gotten worse as the years have gone by."

Victoria interrupts, "Darling, I hate to tell you – "

"She's coming back for round three?" Harry resists the urge to look over his shoulder.

"No, but if you don't keep up the charade, she's going to do everything to make your life even more miserable."

Harry feels an all too familiar knot of anxiety forming in his stomach. "I can't ask Merlin to do that." He glances at the man. "It wouldn't be fair to impose."

Victoria doesn't hesitate to make her opinion known. "Stop being so noble, Harry."

Harry doesn't know what to say.

Victoria gives them a little push. "Why don't the two of you take off, find some quiet late-night spot to get reacquainted."

Merlin throws a bucket of cold water on that plan. "I'm yer date for the evening and I don't think ye want to leave now."

Victoria looks around the room and gestures to someone. It's Roxanne, who hurries over. "What's up, Auntie V?"

"Roxanne, dearest, will you be so kind as to be my date for the rest of the evening? Merlin and Lord Hart need to take off."

Roxanne agrees with a delighted grin and inadvertently echoes Victoria when she tells them to shoo.

It takes a bit of effort to escape the hotel, and there is the usual gaggle of paparazzi at the perimeter, but some film star is posing with his newest girlfriend and Harry thinks they've managed to avoid the eye of the gutter press.

"Shall we cut through the park? I know a place off of Grosvenor that's a bit of an oasis this time of night."

"Sounds good to me."

The bar is one of those lovely hidden places inside an old hotel, and once they sit down with their drinks, Merlin asks, "Has your mother always been such a …"

"Bitch?"

Merlin nods.

"Yes. She'd dedicated her life to making my father miserable, and since I won't allow her to ruin my brother and his family's lives, she's trying to do the same to me."

"How long has she's known you're gay?"

Harry can remember the day and the hour. "Since I was sixteen."

"She walked in on ye when ye were with another laddie?"

"No. She'd been screaming at my father about his apparent interest in one of the young men who worked on the estate."

"Yer father was queer, too?"

"Yes, and so was my grandfather and his uncle and about three-quarters of the men who've held the title of Marquess Cardoc."

"That's … something."

"It is." Harry doesn't elaborate.

"So – what happened with yer mother and ye coming out to her? She was yelling at yer father and …?"

"My father wouldn't have touched anyone on the estate, ever. He was a gentleman and a gentleman doesn't abuse those who depend on him for their livelihood. Besides, he had a long-time companion in London, someone he'd cared for very deeply. At the time, I hadn't been quite so wise. There was a young gardener - Robert - and young being relative, he was about twenty. He had always managed to have his shirt off when I was around and I took him up on what he'd been offering. My mother had spotted Robert leaving the summerhouse and thought he'd been in there with my father – hence the flaming row. I couldn't let him take the blame and told my mother the truth."

"I guess she wasn't happy about that."

"She told me to stop covering for my father, and after that, never would say a word about it."

"And your father?"

"He already knew. I'd come out to him two years before, right after he'd come out to me."

"And in all this time, yer mother still believes yer straight?"

"She'll delude herself about this until she dies."

"I'm sorry – it must be rough."

Harry shrugs. "I've been living with her denial for a long time. But lately, her attempts to see me married and bred like a prize stallion have become more insistent. It's become a calling for her." He shakes his head and remembers what Eggsy had suggested. "A friend of mine recommended that I hire a professional, someone to pretend to be my boyfriend."

"A professional?"

"Not what you're thinking. Apparently it used to be a thing for society women to hire gay men to take them to parties and events. One of my friends suggested that I should find a gay man to be my arm candy, since I've never had a public relationship. It's not a terrible idea; it won't stop my mother but she won't find too much traction with women if I'm rather visibly out, with a handsome and age appropriate partner."

"Why not just date? Wouldn't that solve the problem?"

Harry shakes his head. "Honestly, dating is too much effort and I'm simply not interested in sharing my life with anyone. A professional without any expectations would be the best option. But sadly, I don't think this is a service offered to gay men."

Merlin doesn't say anything. He just sips his scotch and stares at Harry with an inscrutable expression.

"What?"

"I guess I should tell ye the truth. I used to be one of those professional escorts - after Uni, after my spots cleared up. It's how I met Victoria. I didn't have yer advantages, just the only son of a pair of teachers from Stirling. Didn't want to head back to Scotland, and London had still been affordable in those days. Had something of a _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ life for a while."

Harry isn't shocked by Merlin's confession. He finds it way too intriguing and can't help but ask, "Were you Holly Golightly or the narrator?"

"Good question. In the movie, Paul is straight, which I'm not."

"In the novella, the narrator is a stand-in for Truman Capote, who had been anything but straight." Harry likes this man, he's smart and forthright, funny and mature. Maybe …

"What are ye thinking?"

Harry hopes he's not blushing, that would be too ridiculous at his age. He holds up his empty glass. "That maybe I need another. You?"

"Perhaps a switch to water?"

"That would probably be wise for both of us." Harry asks the bartender for two bottles of Perrier and takes them back to the booth.

Merlin waits for Harry to sit, then says, "So, I was thinking about what Victoria said, about keeping up the charade. I'd be happy to help ye out."

"Like I said before, I couldn't impose." Harry can hear himself weakening; he likes the idea of imposing.

"I wouldn't mind at all, Hart. It wouldn't be a hardship to spend time with ye," Merlin says.

"Really?" Harry feels like it's his birthday and Christmas morning – and Merlin is an unexpected and most welcome gift.

"Really. It would be fun thumbing my nose at your mother, at all the homophobic old biddies."

Harry tries to play it cool. "Maybe I'm just jaded, but London society is anything but fun."

"Then why go about in it? Don't ye have better things to do with your time?"

Harry shrugs. "I honestly don't know. Once, it might have been for business, but not for a long time. Now, it's mostly just habit."

"Maybe one worth breaking?"

Harry lets out a deep breath, one he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Perhaps. But maybe after this season. If I disappear, god only knows what trouble my mother will cause?"

"Why is she so bent on making yer life miserable? Other than ye being bent, of course."

Harry chuckles at the witticism. "My brother is happily wedded and he has a lovely family, two sons who are utter delights and a daughter as sweet as a summer day, and all three of them are smart and loyal to the family. When it had become clear that I had no plans to marry and produce offspring of my own, my mother decided that my brother's wife wasn't suitable and started a campaign to have my brother divorce her and take custody of their children. I'd put my foot down and banned my mother from residing at or visiting the family estate or any Hart property where Peter and Elizabeth were staying. Peter is entitled to his happiness and I adore Elizabeth and the children. They don't need to suffer my mother's poison." Harry grimaces, thinking of all the ways his mother could ruin that family.

"So ye make yourself her target. That is an impressive display of fraternal solidarity."

Blushing at the praise, Harry changes the subject. "What about you? What keeps you in bespoke suits these days instead of threadbare Gunner jerseys?"

Merlin chuckles. "Ah, yes, those god-awful jerseys. Would ye believe me if I said that they'd been hand me downs? They only thing I could afford as a poor university student?"

"Maybe, except you had an awful lot of them. If I recall, you even had a few you looked like you'd slept in."

"Maybe I still sleep in them?" There's a glint of devilry in Merlin's eyes. "Or maybe I sleep in nothing at all?"

"Are you teasing me?"

"Maybe?"

Harry shakes his head. "I like you, Merlin. But if that's an offer, I'm going to have to turn it down."

"Why?"

Harry sighs. "You are going to be my arm candy for the next few months. It's not going to be a real relationship."

"And sex will just complicate things."

"Exactly." Harry grimaces and shrugs, feeling like something out of a Victorian novel.

"I have to admit that ye're right. It's been a long time since I've fallen into bed with a man on the first date."

"This hasn't exactly been a date, more like an after-action report." Harry bites his lip, feeling a bit foolish.

But Merlin doesn't seem to care. "So I guess I'm not going back to yer place and ye're not coming to mine tonight."

"Afraid not."

They sit in contemplative silence, but Harry doesn't mind. Merlin is a good looking man, with a profile right off of an ancient Roman coin and he enjoys looking. But Harry does wonder if he's being an idiot for turning down what Merlin had so delicately offered.

When the bartender comes over and tells them he's closing up for the night, Harry's surprised at how late it is. "Shall we?"

Merlin nods and before they leave, he drops a twenty pound note on the table and says to Harry as they walk out. "We weren't good customers."

"I wasn't going to criticize. It's the right thing to do." Harry doesn't tell Merlin that he'd left an equally generous tip when he'd gotten the water for them.

At nearly two AM, the Grosvenor neighborhood is quiet. "Do you have far to go?"

"Far enough - Bloomsbury. Ye?"

"Kensington." Harry is a bit reluctant to let the evening end, even though he'd been the one to turn down the tactfully offered sex. "Would you like to share a car?"

Merlin declines. "I'll walk; I think I need to clear my head. But perhaps we can meet for lunch this week? Figure out a battle plan?"

Harry agrees; they exchange numbers and Merlin insists on waiting until Harry's car arrives. Harry feels a bit like a fairytale princess as the car drives off, leaving Merlin standing there. He laughs at the idea and remembers that he is first and foremost a gentleman, and sends a text to Merlin. _Let me know when you get home._

Merlin sends back a message with an eye-rolling emoji. But he does do as Harry asks, and a half-hour later, sends another one, this time of a house and a bed.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although it's June 30 and tomorrow is technically the final posting day for the challenge, my co-mod (and also the artist for the inspiration piece) has granted me a two week extension to complete. The complete story will be about ten chapters - and the writing is almost finished. Thank you, AnarchyCox, for being an awesome co-mod and a better friend.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry takes Merlin to Cornwall to meet his brother and the rest of his family. It's a delightful vacation out of London - and enjoyable time for everyone. At least until Harry sees something he probably shouldn't have.

The next six weeks are something of a whirlwind. Merlin is writing with a speed and clarity he hasn't enjoyed in years, putting out fifteen to twenty pages a day on the days he has no social commitments, and even on those days, he still manages five to ten pages.

Maybe its being out and with interesting people, instead of living inside his own head that's fueling Merlin's creativity. _Heading Home_ , the tentative title for the book, is nothing like his first book. That had been a dirty tell-all, a thinly veiled pot-boiler and a product of its time. _Heading Home_ has an introspective quality to it, the narrator is at peace with who he is, even if he's unhappy with what he has to do.

But today, he's putting all thoughts of the novel aside. Harry has asked if he'd like to spend the week of the summer bank holiday in Cornwall, at the family seat. Harry's nephew, Neal, the young man who will eventually inherit the title and estate, is turning sixteen. Of course, there will be a party for his friends, something splashy in London, but this weekend is a family celebration and Harry wants Merlin there.

When Harry had issued the invitation, Merlin had only one reservation. "Will Lady Margaret be there, too?"

"Oh, hell no. Neal is entitled to enjoy his birthday, not contemplate grand-matricide."

"Then why do ye want me with ye?"

Harry looks puzzled. "Because I enjoy your company? Because I would like to introduce you to my family?"

Merlin wants to remind Harry that they aren't actually in a relationship, but he can't bring himself to spoil the moment.

"Then I'd be delighted." That night, after Harry had declined Merlin's invitation to come up for a night cap, but with visible reluctance, Merlin had indulged in his favorite bit of fantasy, thinking about what it would be like if this relationship was actually real.

It's not hard to believe that it isn't, when Harry picks him up in a classic Morgan roadster and greets him with a kiss on the cheek. "Hope you won't mind riding with the top down."

"Not at all." He puts on his sunglasses and a well-worn snapback and relaxes. The day is warm, the sun is bright and once they escape London, Harry floors it. The little car doesn't do much more than the speed limit, but it feels like they are traveling at light speed. Even on the narrow local lanes, Harry barely slows down.

When he does hit to breaks, to let a farm vehicle cross the lane, Merlin feels like he's landed on the moon. "You live for danger, don't you?"

Harry grins. "What's the matter? Would you have preferred an estate car?"

Merlin laughs and shakes his head. "Just get us there in one piece."

They arrive mid-afternoon, about an hour before tea, and the introductions go smoothly. Peter, Harry's brother, gives him the once over before shaking his hand. Elizabeth is charming and beautiful and has a worrisome glint in her eye. The children - teenagers, actually - are well-behaved, but Merlin is a bit startled at how much young Neal looks like his uncle - same soft eyes, same height, same ridiculous curls. Merlin feels a bit of déjà vu when the boy holds out his hand.

Harry elbows him and Merlin takes it, apologizing. "I'm sure ye've been told a hundred times, but ye look almost exactly like yer uncle when he was young."

"Yeah, dad tells me that a lot. Grandmother mentioned it too, but I had the feeling it hadn't been a compliment."

Harry looks worried and asks, "You've seen Lady Margaret recently?"

The boy shrugs. "She came by my school just before the end of term and asked if I wanted to go with her to Paris on my birthday, but I told her I already had plans. She practically ordered me to break them. I told her I'd rather be with people I love." The boy bites his lip and glances over at his father. "Sorry, I didn't want to be rude, but she's just nasty."

Peter gently shoos the boy away. "It's all right, Neal. But next time you see your grandmother, please tell us."

The boy nods and runs off, dragging his brother and sister with him.

Peter sighs. "Mother is getting out of hand. She cornered Ellie in town and offered her a million pounds to divorce me and move to Australia."

"Mother doesn't have a million pounds to spare, but that's beside the point. I'll talk with the lawyers about having the scope of the restraining order clarified." Harry grimaces and looks over at Merlin. "I'm sorry for all of this family drama. I promised you birthday cake and a relaxing week in the country."

Merlin takes Harry's hand. "The week's just started. And would ye think less if me if I say I find yer family drama interesting?"

"No, of course not." Then Harry frowns. "You're not thinking of using my mother as fodder for a book, are you?"

Merlin is quick to reassure Harry that while the idea of a character based on Lady Margaret to be compelling, he wouldn't break Harry's trust like that.

"I guess, from an outsider's point of view, Mother could be an interesting character. But I'd rather not see the family goings-on printed in some best seller."

"No, I wouldn't do that to ye or yer family."

Peter and Elizabeth are puzzled at this exchange and Harry explains that Merlin - in addition to being an old and dear friend - is also a best-selling author. "That thriller I'd recommended to you last year is one of Merlin's."

Peter laughs and shakes his head. "Ah - why am I not surprised that Harry's found the perfect companion. You two can talk books until the heat death of the universe."

Merlin looks over at Harry and they share a very private smile.

Elizabeth, who insists that Merlin call her Ellie, asks what he's working on. "It may seem rude, but I never talk about my current projects. I don't even discuss them with my publisher."

Harry nods, confirming this. "I've learned not to pry, and to leave Merlin to his writing when he's in the zone."

The conversation would have devolved into the publishing business, but Ellie asks if Harry and Merlin would like a chance to refresh before lunch. "You might be blessed, Merlin, but Harry looks like he's been dragged through a hedge backwards."

Merlin rubs his scalp. "First time I've heard anyone call this a blessing."

Harry shocks the daylights out of him when his kisses Merlin's cheek. "I always feel like I'm dating some modern day version of a Roman emperor. You were very handsome in our salad days, when you had hair. You're a god now, without it."

Merlin looks at Harry and blinks. Harry's wearing a lovely, fond smile and his eyes are soft. There's no way Harry's taking the piss if he's looking at him like this. "Thank ye."

Ellie breaks the moment, "Harry, since you didn't say anything, I've had Merlin's bags put into your suite."

Merlin holds his breath, waiting for Harry to tell his sister in law that she's mistake, but Harry just says thank you and gets to his feet. Merlin follows and they head upstairs.

He'd been impressed by the house when they'd arrived - it is a confection of Georgian symmetry and lightness. The interior is much the same, and at some point, someone had spent a fortune restoring it. The upstairs gallery is lined with portraits and Merlin just stops and stares.

"Jesus - ye all look alike." He walks back to the earliest painting - the fourteenth century portrait of the fourth Viscount Harnley and sees how the fine mouth, strong jaw and arching cheekbones follow the line through six centuries. 

"And most of the Hart men, since Plantagenets, have been gay or bisexual. The third Earl had given Charles II a run for his money with the number of bastards he'd sired. He also had several male lovers, including his second 'wife'." Harry points out a portrait of a bewigged noble and his rather handsome spouse.

"Now that one begs a novel or two." Merlin can feel the story start to germinate. "Maybe not historical, something in a fantasy realm, to save the family face?"

"I think, after all of this time, the Hart family wouldn't mind airing this bit of dirty laundry. If you want to write a Restoration romance based on the couple, I'll be happy to give you access to the muniments room."

Harry tucks his arm into Merlin's and pulls him away. "But not now. I'd rather have you to myself this week."

The bedroom Harry leads him to is one that definitely belongs to the lord of the manor. Unlike the house' public spaces, this room is definitely not a period piece - if just for the vast size of the room. And the bed. Merlin cannot help but stare at the bed.

It's _orgy_ sized.

Harry sighs. "I really hope you don't mind sharing the bed for the weekend. While Peter and Elizabeth wouldn't say anything if they found out our relationship is just a charade, there are always servants - some of whom are very likely in my mother's pocket - and I'd rather not have to deal with the fallout if she finds we're not sleeping in the same bed."

Merlin can't help but feel a little sad at the reminder that this is all a charade, but he's nothing if not a good friend. "Of course - the whole point of this is to convince your mother you're in a relationship with a man." Merlin might be mistaken, but there's something that looks like regret in Harry's eyes.

"Let me go wash up and we'll head back down for tea."

Merlin just stands there, trying to make sense of the moment, while Harry disappears into the en suite.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry wonders when he began to think that playing with fire would be a good idea. Inviting Merlin to a family event is certainly not necessary for the charade, although it would be a nice bit of information for Lady Margaret's spies to pass on to her. Keeping Peter and Ellie in the dark isn't necessary either; they are both decent actors and would have been happy to actively participate in a ruse against Lady Margaret.

The continuing charade leaves Harry with a sour taste in his mouth. It's bad enough he's using the dear man like he is; that they are going out and about in London society, presenting themselves as a romantically engaged couple – all for Harry's benefit. It has been a surprising success, even to the point that the press has picked up on. The most recent issue of Hello! printed a few pictures of them at a gala for the British Museum and OK! had run a feature about "the gay lord of London publishing". Both pieces had focused on Harry, his title, his ownership of Kingsman Media and his relatively low profile in Society, rather than delve into Merlin and _his_ background.

He'd asked Merlin if he had a publicist, someone who would help control the narrative. Merlin had looked at him like he'd needed professional help. It took a bit of convincing to get Merlin to agree that someone like that could be useful and he eventually hired the firm Harry had recommended.

Of course, the endgame of this charade is to get Lady Margaret off of his back, to have her finally accept, for once and for all, that her eldest son is gay and will not, under any circumstance, marry a woman.

Harry's own romantic desires are, in a word, irrelevant. That he's intensely attracted to Merlin can't be a consideration. That his dreams are becoming increasingly filthy has the potential to be a huge embarrassment tonight and tomorrow night.

Well, at least the bed is so big they'll need passports to meet in the middle

Because it's his eldest nephew's sixteenth birthday, Elizabeth has made the evening meal a black tie affair. Harry doesn't mind, it gives him another chance to see Merlin in that gorgeous tuxedo. No matter how many times he's seen Merlin in it, Harry still has a moment when all the blood rushes out of his head and heads south of his waistband. He's managed to stay coherent when he looks at Merlin in that tuxedo, but his composure is hard-earned. 

Right now, he feels like one of those cartoon characters whose tongue rolls out of his mouth when a sexy woman walks by. Merlin has come out of the en suite wearing nothing more than a towel and some water droplets, and Harry wants to do nothing more that toss the man onto the bed and lick off every single one of them.

But he doesn't. He gives Merlin all of the privacy the large and open room allows, turning his back as the other man discards the towel and starts to dress. But the privacy is illusory, Harry watches Merlin in a mirrored picture frame as he tries to attend to his own attire. 

Merlin turns around as he pulls up his y-fronts and Harry almost chokes. Merlin is cut, which isn't a shock, given his age; and not only that, he's deliciously large, which appeals to Harry for so many reasons. He's also sporting a Prince Albert and Harry is lightheaded from desire.

Harry fumbles with the studs on his shirt and wonders if he should take another shower – a cold one – to get some control over his unruly body. Merlin hums tunelessly as he finishes dressing.

"Ye all right, Harry?"

"Fine, fine – just lost in thought." He manages to finish dressing without making a complete idiot of himself. 

He's put the jacket on and checking the fit in the mirror when Merlin says, "Ye look good. I like that tux on ye – don't think I've seen ye wear that one before."

Harry's surprised that Merlin realizes he rotates his formalwear. "I actually keep this one here. It had seemed that most of my visits are for some kind of party or formal event, so it made sense to keep one in the wardrobe here, rather than cart it back and forth."

Merlin is standing behind him and Harry looks at his date – his _friend_ \- in the mirror and thinks that this would make a very nice engagement photo. Except they aren't really dating …

He smiles and Merlin smiles back and Harry feels that if he doesn't get them out of the bedroom, he might end up doing something disastrous. "Shall we? I don't think Elizabeth will send anyone to get us, but we'll be in for a bit of a ribbing if we're late for dinner."

Harry is surprised to see that a guest has joined the gathering, a young man about his nephew's age. The young man is wearing a tuxedo, but unlike Neal's, it's rented, which doesn't really mean a damn thing. Sixteen year olds rarely need tuxedos, and Harry mentally applauds the boy for making an effort.

Harry leaves Merlin and his very distracting proximity to go beg an introduction. "Happy birthday, Neal."

"Thank you, Uncle Harry. And thank you for your gift. I'm looking forward to getting to use it."

"Ah, so it was delivered." Harry, on Peter and Elizabeth's advice, had a custom saddle made for Neal's hunter.

"This afternoon. I should have thanked you right away, but Declan arrived and well, we got busy." Neal gestures to the young man at his right.

"And you are Declan?"

Before the boy can say anything, Neal remembers his manners and makes the full introduction. "Declan, this is my uncle, Henry Hart, the seventh Marquess Cardoc. Uncle Harry, this is my boyfriend, Declan Montaigne."

Harry doesn't blink at that announcement. Peter had told him several weeks ago that Neal was most definitely a Hart, by name and nature. He offers his hand to Declan, "A pleasure to meet you."

It's clear that Neal's coached his boyfriend in the proper response, but Declan's clearly nervous. His palm is unpleasantly damp and his voice breaks three times before he can manage, "Thank you, my lord."

Harry would prefer not to be called "my lord" by anyone, especially this poor child, but there are certain protocols that need to be followed. If Neal's relationship with the boy is real and lasting, Harry will look forward to being an honorary uncle. If this is simply another teenage romance, then the formality will remain.

He asks some obligatory questions of both boys and the answers are pretty much expected. A shared love of horses and wild spaces, Declan is interested in pursuing a career in medicine, Neal has plans to become a veterinarian. That pleases Harry – the boy isn't going to sit around and wait to inherit a fortune and title.

The conversation with his nephew and friend does a good job of settling Harry down. He thinks about dragging Merlin out of the room only every heartbeats, instead of obsessing on the idea.

Neal's brother, Michael, joins them. The boy is just a year younger and has a reputation as a smart-ass and proves it. He leans against Harry, looks up and bats his eyes. "I'm not queer, so the title's safe."

Harry loves his nephew, but doesn't mind giving him the business. "Maybe you just haven't met the right boy yet." He turns to Declan and asks, "Do you have a younger brother?"

"No, but I do have a cousin whose gay. He's in year nine at Winchester, and I think he's been crushing on Michael from afar." Declan grins and bumps shoulders with Neal.

What Harry finds interesting is that Michael doesn't get angry. Instead, he looks … interested. Before this conversation can devolve into something dangerous, Peter comes to the rescue, pulling Harry away to settle an good-natured argument between Elizabeth and Merlin on the literary merits of modern fantasy.

Dinner is pleasant and the boys are given leave to depart after pudding. Harry is dying to ask Peter what he thinks of Declan and if it's serious. His nephew is only sixteen, but he understands that kids are different now. And if Neal's parents are so accepting, perhaps the relationship is something to bet on, despite the boys' youth. He doesn't, though. Merlin might be a good friend, but he's not family and some things just not spoken of in mixed company.

Except Ellie doesn't seem to care and asks Harry's opinion of Declan over digestifs. 

"He seems like a pleasant young man. And not to sound too much like an Edwardian _paterfamilias_ , but do you know his family?"

His brother replies with the kind of laconic fondness that Harry loves about him. "Declan and Neal have been best friends since the cradle. You actually know Declan's and grandparents – the Doctors Montaigne."

"I do, and I guess that's why the boy wants to study medicine. They are still practicing in the area?" Harry had been a year or two ahead of the Montaignes' son – presumably Declan's father. Peter, though, had once been good friends with boy.

"Auralia still works in the clinic in the village a few days a week, Edmund had his hips replaced but isn't as mobile as he needs to be, so he's retired to the extent that he don't make too many house calls. Gregory has given up suggesting that they move to the Spanish Riviera and enjoy their golden years in the sunshine, and accepted that his parents will continue on with the practice until the heat death of the universe."

Harry glances over at Merlin, expecting to see a bit of boredom on his face, but to the contrary, Merlin seems intent and engaged.

"So, Neal and Declan – you don't have an issue?"

Elizabeth shakes her head. "Not in the least. I'd rather they be happy together than have Neal struggle to find an anchor and end up drowning. Are you disappointed, Harry?"

"Not at all. Given family history, I'd be surprised if he _wasn't_ gay. And in grand Hart tradition, the title will eventually pass to Michael and his children." Harry keeps his thoughts about Michael to himself.

"You do realize that Mother will most likely know about Neal after tonight." Harry sighs.

Peter raises an eyebrow at that. "The servants won't talk."

"Are you sure? Mother might not have a million pounds to buy Elizabeth off – " He nods at his sister-in-law in silent forgiveness, "but she can certainly pay some of the older servants to pass one information."

"Anyone who had the least bit of fondness for the bitch went to work for her in London or had been given a generous severance. None of the upstairs staff have any loyalty to her. This isn't _Downton Abbey_. The old bat burned her bridges with the village and there isn't one of them who'd accept a penny from her."

Peter seems certain, and perhaps he's right. He's lived here all his life and knows the people. But Harry can't afford to be sure.

"We'll find out soon enough. I'll likely see Mother in town in the next few weeks. If she's gotten wind of Declan's place in Neal's life, she'll not hesitate to blame me for that."

Ellie disagrees, "More likely, blame me. I am, after all, the outsider, the evil witch that seduced and trapped her beloved baby boy into a loveless marriage." Her tone is wry, but Harry can hear the hurt.

So can Peter, and he takes his wife's hand, kissing the back of it. "I love you, sweetheart, and bless the day we met."

They retire from the dinner table shortly after that and Harry asks Merlin if he'd like to take a walk around the gardens. 

They are on the far side of the parterre when Merlin speaks. "I like your family." He is quick to qualify, "Well, except for your mother."

Harry has to laugh. "No one likes my mother. Not even her friends. But my brother is really rather wonderful." Those words are from the heart. "He could have been a real prat about everything – he does all of the hard work managing the estate, but he doesn't have the title."

"I get the feeling that he's happy that he doesn't have that worry. He loves this place and ye have given him everything he wants without the burden of a peerage. He's as decent a man as ye are."

Harry feels himself blushing at the praise. "My father had been a good man, but trapped by expectation and society. He tried to raise us as real people, not placeholders for the title - the proverbial heir and spare. Peter does love all of the family properties, but especially this place. He has degrees in rural land management and environmental conservation, Elizabeth has an MBA that focuses on supporting rural economics. They are good stewards of the estate, and they've raised the boys to be the same."

"Not to be morbid or nosy, but can the estate support the death duties?"

"Is this your writer's brain at work?" Harry asks. 

"Basically." Merlin grins. "I would say curiosity is one of my worst sins, but I don't think curiosity should ever be considered a sin."

"I have to agree. And to answer your question - not really. The estate itself doesn't bring in enough to pay the forty percent that Inland Revenue will demand; that's why I've become a minor business tycoon. In a way, you will help Peter pay the taxes when I die – my personal share of the profits from Kingsman Media fund a trust for the estate. And as Kingsman's most profitable author, you are indirectly responsible for the continued financial health of the Cardoc estate."

"That is a little too funny." They come to the end of the formal gardens; past this last parterre is rolling lawn and then a wooded copse and Merlin asks, "Shall we head back?"

The gravel crunches under their shoes and Harry breathes deeply, savoring the night air, warm and fragrant with the scent of foliage and flowers. "If you wish a bedroom of your own for tonight, I'll make that happen. I feel I must offer, based on Peter's assurances about the staff's loyalty."

Harry hears his own words, how reluctant he sounds. He shouldn't be, but he is, damn it.

"No, I don't think it'll be a problem. That bed is big enough for a footie team and besides, no one is every really bribe-proof. Let's not take chances that your mother finds out we're _not_ fucking." 

Harry can hear the laughter in Merlin's words. "All right. We are both adults with self-control." And of course, Harry can't help but remember the vision of Merlin's pierced cock and everything he wants to do with it, to it. To Merlin.

It's going to be a long night.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've fancast my OCs for this chapter. Peter is Andrew Firth (Colin's younger brother) and his wife, Ellie, is Kate Winslet. And Dame Judi Dench is Lady Margaret Hart (in case you were wondering)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes a surprising confession.
> 
> Merlin isn't the least bit annoyed. Why would he be, it's what he'd intended in the first place.

Harry is, as always, the perfect gentleman, and lets Merlin take possession of the en suite first. Merlin, for his part, isn't feeling terribly gentlemanly. He's like nothing more than for Harry to toss him onto that vast bed and fuck him until they both pass out.

Once, he'd been quite the goer, a cock slut spreading his legs for any man in a good suit. Or any woman willing to peg him hard. But it's been years since he's been so indiscriminate, and he's found value in selectivity. The problem is that since he's started the charade with Harry, he hasn't gotten a good fucking; the unaccustomed celibacy is becoming a problem. Which is, of course, ridiculous; he's fifty-four and has control over his libido. 

Actually, what the problem is is that he wants Harry Hart and he wants more than a quick fuck. He wants what this relationship to be real. He wants his own happily ever after with Harry, with all of the little (and big) things that make up a life together. Maybe it's the romance writer in him, the one who loves all of the tropes that make the genre so popular, that's making him long for the impossible. Harry isn't for him, not long-term, not forever. He's a beautiful, lovely and kind man who has absolutely no interest in a real relationship with Merlin.

Merlin stares at himself in the full length bathroom mirror and tries to be objective. He's long since gotten over the premature hair loss and his clean-shaven head seems to balance the strong facial features. He's fit and well-muscled and takes pride in his strength. There had been a time, after he'd sold _Walking Out_ and had embarked on his writing career fully time, that he'd gone a bit flabby from all of the hours sitting at a desk, but he'd found that routine workout helped his concentration and he can't even count how many novels he'd plotted out to the repetitive motions on the machines at the gym.

It's his cock that has him worried. He hadn't been drunk when he'd decided to get a Prince Albert, but he had allowed his then-lover to talk him into the piercing. It isn't something he regrets, at least not most of the time. This evening, when he'd come out of the shower in just a towel, he'd hoped that Harry would be less of a gentleman, that he'd see Merlin in all of his glory. But the piercing is not to everyone's tastes, and Harry might loathe it.

Harry, of course, had been the perfect gentleman and turned away to give Merlin privacy, making the question moot. 

Annoyed at himself for these pie-in-the-sky dreams, Merlin pulls on his sleepwear – a pair of soft and worn gym shorts and an equally worn tee shirt with the Gunner's logo on it.

When he emerges, Harry is in a state of delightful dishabille, his tuxedo jacket is off, his bow tie gone, cuffs and buttons undone. Merlin wants nothing more than to finish wrecking Harry's sartorial perfection. And then, perhaps, go on his knees and get his mouth fucked.

No, he needs to stop thinking these thoughts. He'll pop wood like a fucking sequoia in fucking California and then what?

Merlin grabs his tablet and gets into bed, telling Harry. "All yours." When he realizes what he's actually said, he laughs. "Aye, it actually is all yers, but ye know what I mean."

Harry snorts, "Yes, I do. I'll be out in a minute." He disappears into the bathroom.

"Don't rush." Merlin needs a bit of time to get control of his unruly body. He pulls up the app for the Guardian, figuring the news will go a long way to stifling his ardor. It helps for a while, reading about the depressing status of the Brexit talks, the impending state visit by the American president, and the state of Arsenal football.

Then Harry comes back into the bedroom and all of Merlin's good intentions collapse. He'd figured that Harry, Marquess Cardoc, would wear silk jammies and wrap himself in a satin robe, perhaps with the family crest on the lapel. But no, Harry isn't wearing some poncy getup to sleep in; he's got on a pair of ancient running shorts and a practically threadbare tee shirt sporting the faded logo of the Cambridge University Boat Club.

"What's the matter?"

Merlin manages not to choke on his lust. "I remember that tee shirt – ye'd captained the crew team the year we'd shared that house."

Harry plucks at the shirt. "You've got a good memory. I'm always surprised it still fits. I'm not the skinny kid I used to be."

"None of us are." When Harry doesn't move, Merlin realizes something. "I'm I on yer side of the bed?"

"No, no – I actually don't seem to have a side of the bed in this monstrosity. It's ridiculous, isn't it?"

"I'm guessing ye didn't pick it out, then."

"No, I'd given Elizabeth free range to redo the suite. She'd ordered the same mattress for her and Peter, and apparently it had been something of a bargain to order two beds instead of one." Harry climbs in the other side. "Your virtue is safe, I'll need to call out a rescue and recovery team to find you."

Merlin would like to tell Harry that he finds that a little disappointing, but he keeps his tongue.

Harry spends some time on his own tablet, and when Merlin decides that enough torture is enough and says goodnight, Harry follows suit and turns his off, too.

The bed is comfortable, for all its ridiculous size; the linens are soft, the pillows are perfectly firm, and the air is cool; Harry neither snores nor farts, he doesn't toss about restlessly and disturb Merlin's rest. But as the minutes tick away, Merlin can't fall asleep; he's far too aware of the man next to him, just out of reach – forever out of reach.

It's only when Harry lets out a deep, mournful sigh does Merlin realize that the other man hadn't fallen asleep either.

"What's the matter?"

Harry takes so long to answer, Merlin wonders if he'd been mistaken and Harry had been asleep. "I saw your penis."

In the darkness, Merlin blinks. 

Harry adds, "There's a mirrored picture frame on the bureau. When you'd come out after your shower before dinner and dropped your towel, I had a perfect view of it. It's really rather beautiful."

"Ah." The unexpected compliment makes Merlin a bit dizzy. "Thank ye."

"I feel like a fool, you know."

"Why?"

"Why? Because I made this a platonic relationship because I needed a favor. Because I've wanted you as more than a fake date since I saw you at the tailor shop, because there's no good reason why we can't be more than friends, other than my ridiculous fear of commitment."

The dizziness increases with each word and Merlin feels like the world is spinning off of its axis. "I - I …" He can't get the words out.

"You don't want this, then. I'm an idiot." Harry misinterprets Merlin's speechlessness and sits up, about to get out of bed. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't - don't go." Merlin manages to grab the back of Harry's shirt, pulling him back into bed. "I just - " He shakes his head. "I just wasn't expecting ye to tell me that ye want me, that ye want something more. I thought that maybe ye're ace. Ye never talk about relationships ye've had, and ye don't seem all that interested in sex."

Harry relaxes and sighs. "Not asexual, not in the least. I'm very interested, but, well, I'm not accustomed to showing desire. Comes with the whole repressed nobleman thing. Let me turn on a light - this conversation could use a bit of illumination." Merlin lets go of Harry's shirt and Harry taps a spot on the headboard; the room is filled with a soft light. Harry turns and faces Merlin, his eyes are grave, but his mouth is soft, and the world finally stops its crazy spinning. 

"Ye want me?" Merlin feels like a character in one of his own damn romances.

"Yes, rather terribly. In fact, I cannot remember ever wanting someone as much as I want you."

"Ye like the piercing?" Merlin bites his lip, unsure of himself.

"Very much. And it's not the only thing I like." Harry smiles wryly. "I like you. I like your sexy brain as much as your sexy body."

Merlin lets out the breath he's been holding. "So, what does that mean? What do ye want from me?"

"I'd like to make this relationship real, Merlin. If you want that, too."

"Ye're saying that when the social season's over, ye want to keep seeing me? That you don't want us to part in January and become vague strangers, business associates at best? You want to take this someplace else?"

"Exactly. Do you want that?"

There's something about the intimacy of the bed and the low light and Harry's warm gaze that make Merlin utterly vulnerable. "Do ye know how much I've wanted that? How many hours I've spent building fantasies about the two of us. I'm a writer and I can't help but spin tales, even for myself." 

"I have two questions." Harry actually looks a bit mischievous.

"I'll do my best to answer."

"I've always been curious about a Prince Albert. How do you get through airport security with surgical steel through your willy."

Merlin can't restrain the shout of laughter. "My willy. What are you, twelve years old?"

"Just answer the question."

"Well, I don't go through security with a steel ring through my willy; it comes out."

"Ahh." Harry nods. "That would make sense."

"And your other question?"

"May I kiss you?"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

When Merlin nods, his eyes wide, like a deer caught in the headlights, Harry doesn't think twice. He leans in and kisses the other man, softly, taking his measure. Tasting him. It's a distracting and unpleasant thought, but Harry can't help but think of the paid companions he's had over the decades, young men who had been convenient, handsome bodies. Sex hadn't been an act of intimacy, but one of bodily relief.

This kiss, this almost non-sexual contact, is the greatest moment of intimacy Harry can ever remember.

They kiss and the world might come to a violent end, but it wouldn't matter. Merlin fits him perfectly, long and lean, built like something found on a Hellenic urn. Harry's had his fair share of sex partners, but he realizes that for the first time in decades, he actually has a lover.

Then he realizes something and breaks the kiss as reality intrudes.

"What the fuck is the matter?" Merlin tries to pull him back.

"That's the problem, we can't fuck. No lube or condoms, unless you've got in your kit?" Harry hopes Merlin is a boy scout.

"No condoms, but lube. I'll go get it."

Harry watches Merlin head to the en suite, loving that perfect ass, the v-shaped torso, and those crazy long legs. They are going to feel so go around his waist.

A minute later, Merlin comes back with the promised bottle and a towel.

"Good man, and do I want to know why you have lube but no condoms?"

Merlin flushes dark red. "I, uh, have needs? It's a thing I keep in my kit, don't necessarily use it every time I travel?"

Oh, he's so deliciously nervous and that brings out all of Harry's darker instincts. "Strip."

Merlin pulls off his shorts and shirt, dropping them on the floor.

"Spread the towel out and get into bed, on top of it."

Merlin looks at him, eyes wide, already blown.

"Do it, Merlin." 

Harry doesn't feel nice. He feels powerful when Merlin gets on the bed, his cock is erect, the head flush against his hard belly, the ring standing out - a decadent enticement. Merlin doesn't say a word; he just lies there, waiting for the next instruction. 

Harry doesn't give one. He pours some lube into his palm and rubs his hands together to warm it. "You are gorgeous, you know that?"

Merlin laughs, a breathy, nervous sound. "Ye've got to be fucking kidding me, Hart."

"You ever look at yourself in the mirror? You're like a Greek statue made from flawless, polished marble - all muscle and bone and gorgeous skin."

"Maybe ye should be the writer, Harry - ye got a touch of the poet in ye."

Harry just shakes his head. "You bring it out in me." He's kept Merlin waiting too long and he touches his cock, a firm upward stroke, capping the head with his palm. Merlin bucks into his hand and Harry repeats the gesture. "You like that?"

"Aye - very much." Merlin is panting, his eyes unfocused. "Ye're right wicked, my lord."

"You know, that might be the very first time I've actually liked being called that." Harry keeps working Merlin's cock, and when Merlin starts bucking his hips up, fucking into Harry's fist, Harry uses his free hand to hold Merlin down.

"I love that you're so eager for this."

"I love that ye make me want this. Just yer hands on me."

Harry uses his thumb to toy with the ring and Merlin hisses. "That doesn't feel good?"

"Nay, it feels too good. Going to come all over ye if ye don't stop."

"I think that's the point, darling." Harry tightens his grip just enough and adds a bit of a twist to the stroke and Merlin comes, semen roping out over Harry's hand, over Merlin's chest, with impressive force.

Harry strips off his own shirt and shorts, and straddles Merlin. He feels a bit like a god as he masturbates over the other man, his come splashing out and mixing with Merlin's in a moment of utter sexual alchemy.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I researched Prince Albert rings - I'd always been curious how a man with one gets through airport security. As the old saying goes, you learn something new every day!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Harry enjoy the rest of their time away, solidifying their relationship. But all good things to come to an end, and it's time to rejoin the real world and go back to London.

To say the rest of the week was pleasant would be indulging in the most massive of understatements. Merlin had never been one for the bucolic life, but Cardoc House is the perfect country home. Peter and Ellie are low-key hosts who are more interested in letting their guests do what they want rather than sticking so a formal schedule. Of course, Merlin realizes that they are likely acceding to Harry's preferences, but he gets the sense that even if Peter had been the heir, he wouldn't be much different.

And contrary to expectations, the weekend doesn't revolve around the birthday boy. The party had been the highlight, but for the rest of the weekend - and the the week that follows - Harry has dedicated himself to making Merlin the sole focus of his attention, showering him with a kind of deep but casual affection that Merlin can never remember experiencing. It's a heady and dangerous thing.

Harry asks, "What are you thinking about?" 

Harry has taken Merlin to a small lake a ways from the house; there's a dock and boathouse, but they are stretched out on a large blanket, under the shade of an ancient willow. The remains of their picnic, including a now empty bottle of Champagne, have been packed up in the hamper and will be returned when they go back to the house.

"Just thinking that I could get used to this - the country life."

"I thought you are a hard-core city boy, that nothing could pry you out of London."

"Mmm, yeah. Except for the annual summer holiday in Brighton and the occasional trip to the Continent, I've lived my entire adult life in London. I get my need for green space filled by walks in the parks."

"The city parks are wonderful, but there really isn't anything to compare to this."

"No, ye're right, they can't. Honestly, I thought Cornwall was all haunted moors and cliffs and fishermen luring ships onto the rocks and killing everyone who survives the crash."

Harry bursts out laughing. "You are too infatuated with Daphne Du Maurier."

"That might just be true," Merlin has to admit.

Harry leans over, trapping Merlin with his body and kisses him. "I told Peter to keep the kids away from the lake this afternoon. Can I fuck you?"

"Mmm, I'd like that - but if your nephews and niece are even remotely like normal children, you know they are going to come looking."

"True. Too true." Harry rolls off him and collapses back onto the blanket. "And I suspect that your back will prefer the lovely orthopedic mattress in our bedroom."

"I didn't want reality to intrude upon the moment, but yes - this blanket is nice, but the mattress is nicer." That doesn't mean that Merlin can't cuddle into Harry and use him as a pillow. They watch the clouds drift across the achingly blue summer sky, the light filtering through the willow leaves, and with Harry's heartbeat under his ear, Merlin drifts off.

He's woken by the sound of giggling teenagers, of course. The Harts and their various companions, human and equine, are standing a respectful distance, but they are definitely amused by their sleeping uncle and his boyfriend. Harry whispers in his ear, "Thank you for being the voice of common sense."

"Any time."

Harry gets to his feet, holds his hand out, helping Merlin up before shooing the children away. "We'll see you back at the house, you beasts."

That evening, their last at Cardoc House, there's a return to formalwear, and Harry apologizes. "I really do want to see you in your tuxedo again. Honestly, you are too gorgeous in it for my peace of mind."

Merlin just shakes his head, "Says the man who should be a permanent fixture on the cover of GQ in his own tuxedo. You take my breath away, Hart."

Harry actually blushes. "Don't be silly."

Merlin tucks his arm into Harry's and they head down to dinner. To Merlin's surprise, the family dining room is empty of family, but the balcony doors are open, and candles flicker in votive glasses. "Peter and Elizabeth have taken the children into town for supper and a movie. It's just us tonight."

Harry's smile, so sweet and hopeful, makes Merlin's stomach flutter. "And they say, romance is dead."

"I figured if anyone deserves a romantic evening, it's you."

The servants are unobtrusive, as well trained as those that must have populated this house in far grander times. Merlin knows, academically, that the food must be delicious; the wine exquisitely paired, but his whole universe seems comprise of Harry Hart. Merlin doesn't want to think about the future, he wants to live in the now, under the summer stars - a whole wheeling galaxy visible in the sky here at the end of England.

They linger, and Harry covers Merlin's hand with his own. "You enchant me - and that is no pun."

"I am just a teller of tales."

"In another time, you'd have been the court bard, a storyteller to kings."

"I am content to be a storyteller for Kingsman."

That gets a chuckle from Harry. "I had not intended to make a pun, but that was a good one."

One of the servants approaches and asks if they would care for digestifs, but both he and Harry decline. That seems to be a signal and Harry rises, offering Merlin his hand. "Shall we to bed?"

Once again in their vast bedroom, Harry cares for him with exquisite courtesy, divesting him of his tuxedo piece by piece, making the act of unbuttoning Merlin's shirt the most erotic thing he's ever experienced. And when he lays Merlin on the bed and covers his body with his own, the act of penetration is a perfect blessing.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry can't ever remember being so reluctant to return to London. He loves his brother and his family, and of course he loves his ancestral home, but he's never felt _at home_ in the countryside the same way that Peter and Ellie have. This trip seems to have swung the pendulum in the other direction; Harry's genuinely sad to be leaving Cornwall and the delights of the countryside. He wants to ask Merlin if he'd like to set up shop here in Cardoc, for the rest of the summer. There's plenty of wi-fi at the manor house and Harry doesn't need to be on site to do business. He has Percival and Eggsy, plus a whole boardroom full of competent deputies that handle day to day business. He can take a month or so for himself, no?

But when Merlin mentions that he's nearly done with his current manuscript (and Harry has to bite the inside of his lip not to ask what it's about) and is eager to get it to Eggsy and get his opinion, Harry realizes that they are both adults with lives that need to be lived. Lingering in cloud-cuckoo land will just not do, for either of them.

The little roadster is packed up, all of the goodbyes are said, and Harry considers offering Merlin the keys, but then Merlin makes a comment about being glad to live in London, where he never feels the lack of a driving license. 

Harry makes sure his driving is a bit more sedate this time, at least until Merlin gives him a look. "What?"

"What's the matter? Ye're driving like an old lady on her way to church."

"Sorry, I thought I'd gone a bit too fast for you on the outbound trip."

"Floor it if you want."

Harry does just that, enjoying the speed and the summer afternoon. They stop at a service station for gas before getting onto the motorway and its a relatively easy trip back to London, at least until they hit the outer boroughs and traffic comes to an exceedingly annoying halt.

But Merlin isn't annoyed. "It's a nice day, the sun is out, there's a lovely breeze."

"Which stinks of petrol."

"Don't be such a spoilsport."

Harry sighs.

"Yer that anxious to get home?"

"No, not at all. I wouldn't have minded spending another week at Cardoc."

"Why didn't ye say something? I could have gotten back to London on the train, or even stayed with ye. It's a lovely place and I was sorry to leave, too." Merlin now sounds as grumpy as Harry feels.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't have put you on the train - although the way traffic is moving, you might have gotten home a bit faster. And you'd mentioned you were anxious to finish your new manuscript, so you could get it to Eggsy and get his opinion."

"Aye, I guess I did say that. I could have emailed it to him and it's not like he would have dropped everything to read it."

"Hmm, he probably would have. You are his favorite author." Harry takes advantage of a lorry's slow gear change to change lanes and get off the motorway. Soon enough, they are zipping - relatively speaking - through suburban side streets. "Perhaps I can steal you for another week or two in August, when London becomes unbearable."

"I'd like that. Wouldn't mind getting stolen by ye."

All too soon, Harry parked in front of Merlin's Russell Square apartment house and helping Merlin with his bags. "Ask me up."

"Ye're double parked." Merlin is far too practical.

Harry feels something dim. "Ah, right." He had been about to kiss Merlin but now has the distinct feeling such attentions will be unwelcome.

"What are ye thinking, Hart?"

"That I don't like it when you call me that. It's like you're forcing distance between us." Harry blinks; midday on a busy street isn't the place to have an emotional showdown.

Merlin tilts his head and gives Harry a hard look. "Maybe I am. Maybe all I want is to drag ye upstairs, lock the door and never let ye out. I don't know if I like feeling like this."

"Join the club." Harry is torn. He's delighted that Merlin is feeling the same intensity, but he isn't exactly elated that Merlin doesn't like it.

Then Merlin asks, "Dinner tonight?"

"That would be lovely. Where?"

"Here. Seven-thirty, bring dessert and don't be late."

The relief is a little bit sexual. "Condoms and lube, too?"

"That would be nice." Merlin cups his hand around Harry's neck and pulls him close. "I have a very good bed, and it has never been fucked on."

"Maybe we can break it in." Harry grins and gives Merlin a quick, hard kiss. "I'll see you tonight, darling."

Merlin looks a little stunned by the endearment; Harry is delighted.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin finally turns in his new book, the sequel to _Walking Out_ , and it might just be the best thing he's ever written. But there are problems, not with the new book, exactly, but with certain people wanting to use it as a wedge between Merlin and Harry.
> 
> Or, in short, Lady Margaret rears her ugly head again.

Three weeks after Merlin and Harry had returned to London, Merlin finishes the new book. Truth be told, he hadn't had much work to do on it before the trip to Cornwall, just the epilogue, but he had seen Harry just about every night since they's been back in town. They'd gone out quite a bit, because Harry still needed to defang his horrible mother's horrid plans, but they had also spent quite a bit of time at home, too.

Harry's townhouse, filled with ugly artwork, display cases of magnificent butterflies and insects, and a stuffed dog in the loo, is a strangely accurate reflection on its owner. Posh, certainly, but not in a style that Merlin would associate with the holder of some of the most ancient titles in the realm. Or maybe he should, since British aristocrats are a notoriously bizarre breed. 

Butterflies and dead dogs in the bog notwithstanding, Harry's bed is absolutely delightful. Much like Harry - firm and in control.

Today is going to be a rare Harry-less day, although he's turning his manuscript into Kingsman Media and doing it the old fashioned way - hand-delivering a printed copy right to his editor. Eggsy had told him that it isn't necessary, but Merlin insists. He's done this for every book in his contract and it would be bad luck if he didn't do it for the last. Maybe with his new contract, signed and delivered back to Kingsman before he'd gone to Cornwall with Harry, he'll embrace twenty-first century technology and email the manuscript to Eggsy.

Harry, himself, is out of London, in Coventry and meeting with the people who run the motorcar company he owns. Merlin can barely get his head around the fact that Harry owns the tailors, let alone an automobile manufacturer, although Harry is quick to say that the company is small and only produces about two dozen vehicles a year. He'd described it as a bit of a flight of fancy - intended as a tax write-off but with a bit of tweaking, became surprisingly profitable. He doesn't have much to do with the day-to-day operations, but he does keep a close eye on the bottom line and doesn't hesitate to stick his nose in when he has questions.

Apparently, the quarterly reports have raised some questions and Harry decided to make the trip to Coventry to sort things out. 

Merlin isn't thrilled about missing out on lunch with Harry, but he's also rather all right with it, too. He feels like there should be a line between Adam MacLean and his many pen names and Henry R. Hart, publisher, one that doesn't exist between Merlin and Harry.

He doesn't have long to wait once he gets to Eggsy's office; he hears the lad tell his assistant to bring Merlin in. But to Merlin's surprise, Eggsy isn't alone. There's a tall, dark-haired bloke with him - good looking in a very posh sort of way - and he's looking at Eggsy like he wants to have him for a snack. All is explained when Eggsy makes the introductions.

"This is Percival Morton, he's corporate counsel for Kingsman - and my husband. Say hello, Perce."

Morton rolls his eyes and says drily, "Hello, Perce." Then he holds out his hand to Merlin. "Mr. MacLean, a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Thank ye, and a pleasure to meet ye, too. Eggsy has mentioned ye several times." In truth, Eggsy would often go on about his new husband's many perfections, which Merlin had always found rather endearing.

"Well, I'll let you get down to business." Morton gives his husband a kiss on the cheek and Eggsy flushes under Merlin's stare.

When the door closes behind Morton, leaving them in privacy, Eggsy gives Merlin a small, delighted smile. "Isn't he perfect?"

"If he's good to ye and ye love him, then aye, he is."

"Sorry, I'm still kind of in awe that we're married. Been nine months and I want to pinch myself every time I wake up next to him. And every time he brings me lunch and sends a car to get me home when I'm working late. Or - " Eggsy cuts himself off with a shake of his head. "Sorry, I really can go on and on about him."

"Love is a wonderful thing, lad. Don't dismiss your affection for him."

Eggsy's admin comes in with the coffee service and a platter of biscuits and pastries. Merlin is surprised when Eggsy gives him a hard stare over the rim of his cup; he'd never thought the lad could be anymore threatening than a pet rabbit, but the look Eggsy's giving him makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"What's the matter?"

"You're dating Harry." Eggsy's tone is flat and there's an implicit threat in it.

"I'd say that's not yer business, but Harry's yer friend and yer worried."

"Harry is a sweet and caring man, and yeah - I'm worried that he'll get hurt. He's been floating on air the last couple of weeks - you two came back from Cornwall. He doesn't say much - that ain't his way - but I see him when he's thinking about you. And I can see all the signs."

Merlin wants to push Eggsy, to demand what signs, but he knows what Eggsy means. "I feel the same way, and I'd cut off my right arm before I'd hurt him."

"Watch out for his mother - that woman's lethal."

Merlin likes Eggsy, trusts him, but he's not going to tell Eggsy that he and Harry had started out by fake dating to foil Lady Margaret. "I've met her, and I'm not impressed."

"Ha! That is just perfect, Merls." Eggsy puts aside his cup and plate, and asks, "So, why did you want to see me? Harry had mentioned that you were writing something you wanted me to see - is that true?"

"Aye, and it's not just something I want ye to see. it's a finished manuscript." Merlin pulls the document out of his bag and hands it to Eggsy.

" _Heading Home_ , by R.S. Macintosh?" Eggsy looks at Merlin, looks at the manuscript, and looks at Merlin again. "Is this what I think it is?"

Merlin nods. "Ye gave me the idea - our last meeting, remember? When ye suggested I get back to doing what I'd done all those years ago."

"You said you'd been a walker, and that's why you've been going to all the society things?"

"I needed to get a taste of what it's like now - how things have changed."

Eggsy's eyes narrow. "Are you using Harry as your 'in'?"

Merlin is quick to deny that. "Hell, no! My former agent has been helping me - Victoria Winslow. You must have heard of her?"

"Yeah, of course I have. She who must be feared." Eggsy lets out a sigh. "As long as you're not using Harry - "

"I'm not, lad. Believe me, please. This story came to me almost as soon as you'd suggested going back to the beginning. I walked out of here, got home and started outlining. Had the entire story sketched out before I had dinner."

"All right, I just - " Eggsy grimaces, "don't want to see either of you hurt. Especially Harry."

"I understand, and there's nothing about my relationship with Harry in this story."

"Oh, I'll read it. I suspect it will be fantastic, but I'm reserving judgment."

"Understood." Merlin isn't surprised at Eggsy's reaction. But he's been scrupulous in his writing - and the truth is that there's very little of London society in this book.

"But if it's good …" Eggsy grins, "we'll make this a big deal. Secure the rights to reprint _Walking Out_ , maybe a movie deal."

"But no author tour - right?"

"Absolutely not. Your anonymity is essential. The mysterious society observer is what sold the first book - that he's back and still unknown will make this an even hotter property."

Eggsy's enthusiasm is pleasing, especially after his initial reaction. Merlin gets up and says, "Then I'll leave it in your capable hands."

Merlin feels good when he leaves the office and he really does wish that Harry was home, so he could finally talk about the story.

It is unfortunate that his good mood and feeling of accomplishment are shattered by the sight of Lady Margaret Hart getting out of the Bentley parked in front of his building.

"Madam, good afternoon." Merlin doesn't stop, but he does slow down. 

"And good afternoon to you, Mr. MacLean."

Merlin freezes. How the hell does she know his real name? 

"I thought that might get your attention."

"What do you want, Lady Margaret?" Merlin's tone is crisp, perfect RP, not a trace of Scotland in it.

"A few moments of your time."

"You have two minutes, madam."

"I would prefer not to conduct my business on a public street. Would you mind stepping into the car."

"Actually, I would. Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it here."

That doesn't please the woman, but she doesn't push to get her way. "How much do you want?"

"From you, absolutely nothing."

"I'm prepared to pay handsomely for you to leave my son's life."

"As handsome a deal as you'd offered Elizabeth to divorce Peter and emigrate?" 

Lady Margaret's tone is as sour as a vat of vinegar. "That woman should learn to keep her mouth shut."

Merlin makes a point of looking at his watch. "I think your moment is up. I am bored with you and with this conversation."

"You may want to listen to what I have to say. I'm fully prepared to tell Harry all about you and what you've done. You're little more than a paid whore, Mr. MacLean. Just the other day, I had a very interesting conversation with Viscount Armbrook - he remembers you and your interest in the white powder all too well. You were quite the goer, not only with Cecil, but his twin sister, Charlotte, too. Did you do them at the same time?"

Merlin wants to vomit - not from the fear that Lady Margaret will tell Harry about this long-ago episode, but from the memories they evoke. "Spill the beans, you old witch. Do you really think, after all you've done, that Harry's going to care about a word you say?"

"He will, when I tell him you're nothing but a desperate social climber looking for his next score."

"Do your worst, I don't care." Merlin turns and goes into his building, leaving the dowager Marchioness standing on the sidewalk.

The only reason Merlin waits until he's back in his flat to text Harry is that the elevator has lousy reception. But the minute he's in his apartment, he sends that text, asking Harry to call him as soon as possible. Merlin isn't a man to panic, but he feels cracked open and invaded by something dirty.

Thankfully, he doesn't have to wait long for Harry's call.

_"What's the matter, darling?"_

"Your mother - she was waiting for me in front of my building."

Harry lets out a stream of invective that would make a sailor blush. _"Are you all right?"_

Merlin lets out a heartfelt sigh. "Honestly, I'm a bit shaken. Somehow, she knows my real name. Not that it's a state secret, but I don't used it and I can't imagine how she found it." Merlin hears the panic in his own voice and tells himself to calm down. "She also knows something a bit unsavory about my past."

 _"You have an unsavory past?"_ There's a touch of laugher in Harry's voice, like he finds that idea utterly implausible.

Merlin reminds Harry of that conversation in the hotel bar they had that first night. "I was a professional escort for a while, remember?"

_"Ah, right."_

"And well, it's not like the nights always ended chastely. It was the Eighties."

 _"Ahh, I see. Sex and drugs and some rock 'n roll?"_ Harry actually chuckles.

"Sex and drugs, not a lot of rock 'n roll. Some of the sex had been rather - well - excessive. Your mother tracked down someone who has rather fond memories of the excess - Cecil Quimby, Viscount Armbrook."

Harry's chuckle becomes a full-blown laugh. _"She threatened to tell me that you had sex with Cokehead Quimby? I've had sex with Cokehead - it hadn't been particularly good. The highlight was his sister watching me screw her brother; she had been rather insistent on seeing her brother fucked. I drew the line at putting cocaine on my dick, though."_

Merlin has to laugh. "Yeah, it was the Eighties. And yes, Charlotte had watched us, too - while she'd serviced herself with a massive antique dildo she'd claimed had belonged to Catherine the Great. And I fucked her, afterwards." And he probably shouldn't have said that.

 _"Oooh, you were able to get it up for a quim? Or should I say, a Quim?"_. Harry is definitely not angry.

"My performative heterosexuality was a little easier in those days."

_"Look, I'd say don't worry about my mother, but she's a vicious cunt and I don't like that she's been digging around. You didn't sign up to be her victim."_

"Well, I think I did - we started this as a way to deflect her."

_"And even if it was still just that, it doesn't give the bitch the right to invade your privacy. I need to think about how to handle this. She's blown through her inheritance from my father, and her only income is her allowance from the trust I'd set up in exchange for her agreement to keep her away from Peter and his family. Which she's violated on multiple occasions. Perhaps it's time to cut her off."_

Merlin likes how Harry is rushing to his defense, but he doesn't like being in the center of the family drama, either. "I'm sorry I panicked. I really didn't think ye'd pay attention to anything yer mother would say about me. I just had a major freak out about her knowing my name."

_"I understand. And I want her away from you. Away from everyone I care about."_

Merlin gets a warm, happy feeling in his chest. "I like being part of that group, Harry."

Harry actually growls and the warm, happy feeling turns into something else. Something richer, darker. "Ye going to be back home tonight?"

_"I'm leaving now, Merlin."_

The way Harry says his name makes Merlin extremely happy. "I'll see ye tonight, then. My place?"

_"I'll bring dinner."_

Merlin lets out a sigh of happy satisfaction. "Can't wait."

After he hangs up, Merlin looks around the flat. It's not exactly a pig sty, but since he's neglected basic housekeeping in his focus on editing the final manuscript. Rather than do the work himself, Merlin calls the service he regularly uses and they promise to arrive within the hour. Merlin uses the time to run down to the chemist and pick up a fresh bottle of lube and a box of Harry's favorite brand of condoms. Yeah, it all feels a little bit like servicing, but after years of dull, uncommitted relationships and holiday encounters, Merlin is enjoying himself, even if that means surrendering a bit of himself to Harry. This relationship is hardly one-sided.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry hadn't been one-hundred percent truthful to Merlin about being on his way home; the Board of Directors want him to stay for drinks and dinner, and he's slightly tempted - only because he doesn't trust them and liquor loses tongues so effectively. But he's grateful for the excuse to decline the invitation.

Despite a private garage full of very fine motor cars - his one expensive indulgence - Harry had taken the train from London. He spends most of the ninety-minute return trip texting with the solicitor who'd handled his case against Lady Margaret, discussing strategy on how to keep her away from Peter and Ellie and the children, and equally important, how to keep her from wrecking disaster against Merlin. 

Harry isn't sure he's ready to put a name to what he feels for the other man, but it's certainly not something he's felt before. It's a hard thing to admit, but he's reached his mid-fifties and is having his first adult relationship. If someone were to ask, he'd say it's because he'd never wanted to expose anyone to his mother's poison, but the truth is that he's never wanted to share his life with anyone. The closest he's ever come had been the dog he had in his mid-thirties - Mr. Pickle - who'd lived a long and spoiled life. 

As much as he'd loved the little beast (enough to have him stuffed and mounted), Harry hadn't wanted a replacement. After Mr. Pickle's passing, Harry had been perfectly content to live completely alone, enjoying a carefree bachelor's life, with a carefully vetted list of contacts he could call upon when the mood would strike. 

This thing with Merlin is something he's never experienced before, something never thought he'd wanted, and now that he has it, he's going to do everything he can to protect it. And protect Merlin, too. 

His solicitor suggests a meeting early next week - he needs to review the contracts and court orders in place - but he'll have a letter of caution drafted to go to Lady Margaret's legal counsel before he leaves in the evening. Just before the train pulls into Euston Station, Harry confirms that he'll be available on Monday.

As eager as Harry is to see Merlin, he's feeling more than a bit grubby. His day had started with the six AM train to Coventry, a day full of meetings and a trip in a crowded train car back to London. Instead of taking a cab right to Russell Square - which is closer than Kensington, Harry heads home for a shower and shave and a fresh change of clothes.

The day's post is waiting for him, and something that didn't arrive by post - a parcel wrapped in brown paper. From the heft and dimensions, it's obviously a book, but there's is no return address label on it. Harry is briefly reminded of the American terrorist, the Unabomber, but he chides himself for being silly. He leaves the package and the mail on the hallway table and heads up to take the much needed shower - whatever it is can wait until he gets clean.

But the truth is, Harry is too distracted by the package and rushes through his shower. He dresses casually - or as casual as he can manage - packs an overnight bag and heads back downstairs. He side-eyes the book, trying to convince himself to bin it with the rest of the mail - since anything important goes to his accountant - and catch a cab over to Merlin's. But it's Friday, early evening, and hot has hell outside. Grabbing a taxi will mean waiting in the heat; easier to call for an Uber and use the time to look at the book.

He's careful about removing the brown paper, just in case this is something more than an over-eager author looking for a novel way to catch his attention. Except the book isn't newly printed by some vanity publisher, but an old copy of an old book - _Walking Out_ \- a title Harry recognizes. It had been something of a sensation when he'd first started in publishing - a potboiler by an unknown author about the goings on of London society. Chester King had refused to bid on the U.K. rights - not wanting his high-brow house to be stained by a work without any redeeming moral quality. When the book had made the Man Booker short list after spending several weeks on the top of several important best seller lists, Harry had forbore from commenting on the book's critical and commercial success.

Harry had read it, of course, and found it worthy of the critical accolades it had garnered. Harry had also agreed that the writer knew how to use words, but it was smuttier than Harry had expected. At twenty-something, he'd had been something of a prude - at least as far as his tastes in literature had gone. Perhaps Chester had been too much of an influence at the time.

Now, Harry looks at the book and sees a bookmark in place, somewhere at the midpoint of the slim volume; he opens the book to the marked page and finds a section underlined:

_Baron Christopher Huntley - Kit to his friends and Kid Cocaine to his intimates - was as indiscriminately queer as bonobo in the London Zoo primate exhibit. His twin sister, Charissa Huntley, had borne the sobriquet of the Uncharitable Cuntley since her days at St. George's School, Ascot, and had a very peculiar kink. She loved to watch her brother get it up the ass, loved to egg on the unfortunate soul selected to perform the hellish task, often getting herself off with a massive antique dildo, one had that allegedly serviced Catherine the Great's own capacious maw._

Harry reads and re-reads the words, feeling something difficult to pinpoint. From this paragraph and what he'd discussed with Merlin a few hours ago, it's obvious that R.S. Macintosh is actually Adam MacLean. Harry also knows who left the book in his mailbox - his mother or more likely, one of her servants. 

It's actually not hard to figure out how his mother made the connection between Merlin and R.S. Macintosh - Cecil Quimby, Viscount Armbrook and his sister, Charlotte, have been part of his mother's social circle for decades. She's often held up Armbrook as someone who Harry should model his behavior on - since the Viscount has been married four times, and each of his increasingly younger and more avaricious wives has produced a son. It's quite possible that Cecil had seen him and Merlin at an event and dropped that tidbit in his mother's ear.

But it's all pointless, really. Harry couldn't care less that thirty years ago, Merlin wrote this scathing portrayal of London society. He's just a little miffed that as intimate as they've been, as much of Harry's life that he's shared, Merlin hasn't done the same. Harry can understand it, but still, it rankles.

Harry's cell phone rings, and he answers it without checking the caller ID, thinking it's the Uber driver, sticking the book in his overnight bag. "I'll be right there."

"Going to see your paramour, Henry?"

It's not the driver, it's his mother.

"You are to stay away from Merlin, mother." Harry wants to threaten the bitch, but knows better than to tip his hand to her.

"Don't you mean Adam MacLean - or should I say, R.S. Macintosh? Such a nasty little book with all those filthy things in it. I'm surprised your lover isn't dead of that revolting disease the way he'd bent over for everyone and everything."

"I'm inoculated against your poison." Harry can see the car waiting for him and almost hangs up on the bitch.

"You only think you are. Did he tell you that he's written a sequel to that book? Did he tell you that he's been using you and our family as fodder for more trash?"

"What are you talking about?" Harry leaves and locks the door behind him. The driver confirms the address and backs down the street and onto Gloucester Road.

"That schemie of yours turned in a new manuscript today - it's a sequel and as full of trash and lies as the first one. You let him in the door, Henry, so you're going to have to deal with the fall-out." Lady Margaret hangs up, leaving Harry to make sense of her words.

The traffic is slow and Harry decides he needs to confirm his mother's so-called news with Eggsy.

 _"What's up, boss? You back from Coventry?"_ Eggsy snickers at the historical allusion.

"I am. And I have a question for you - did Merlin turn in a manuscript today?"

Eggsy's a bit slow in his reply. _"Yeah."_

"Under the pen name R.S. Macintosh?"

 _"He told you?"_ Now Eggsy sounds relieved.

"Actually, no. The information came to me from a third party. Who among your staff would know what name is on the manuscript? Would this have come through your general email?" Harry can't imagine Merlin being so foolish to send something this explosive through regular channels.

_"Hell, no. Merlin turns in his books the old-fashioned way, printed and hand delivered - I'm still trying to convince him to use the secure submission's portal. The only one who would have seen the book is my admin, Clara. I gave it to her to scan into the system."_

"Do you trust her?"

Harry hears Eggsy furiously tapping on his keyboard. _"Not anymore. It seems that she's made a physical copy of the book, too. Excuse me while I deal with this."_ Eggsy hangs up without ceremony.

Harry takes a few deep breaths. He's angry - but not at Merlin. There's no way in hell that Merlin would abuse the trust between them the way his mother had implied. No, Harry's furious at himself for this moment of doubt. Disgusted, too, that he had believed his mother's poison even for a moment.

The car pulls up in front of Merlin's building and Harry gets out, still a bit dazed, and stares up at the structure. In this moment, he realizes he wants nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with the brilliant, beautiful man who lives here.

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	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite Lady Margaret's poison, everything between Merlin and Harry is now completely clear.

Harry had texted that he would be stopping at his flat before coming over, which gives Merlin time to fuss with the Champagne he'd bought (along with the lube and condoms). He wants to celebrate the end of an era - fulfilling his old contract with Kingsman with a book that just might be the best thing he's ever written.

Merlin checks the bottle, the glasses, his pits - yes, he'd showered after the cleaners had left but nerves are getting to him - and chides himself for over-reacting as he changes his shirt for the third time. He's never been a fussy man, but something about Harry Hart makes him want to fuss, makes him want to preen and show off. The one time he'd convinced Harry to come with him to his gym and watch him work out had resulted in a gob-smacked, speechless peer of the realm who had rushed Merlin home and fucked him so hard, Merlin couldn't sit comfortably for days.

And despite the anticipation - or maybe because of it - Merlin's stomach practically jumps out of his mouth when the lobby buzzer sounds. Given his encounter with Lady Margaret this afternoon, Merlin checks the monitor and makes sure that it's Harry.

It it and he lets him in. Five minutes later, Harry's knocking on the door and Merlin's heart is pounding when he opens it.

Harry looks wretched. There's no other word for it - his complexion is pasty, his eyes bleak, and there are deep lines bracketing his lovely mouth.

Before Merlin can ask what's wrong, Harry drops his bag, reaches for Merlin and pulls him close, kissing him like the world is about to end, like he needs Merlin more than the air he breaths.

Delighted and worried, Merlin breaks the kiss. "What's the matter."

Harry looks at him, eyes searching. "Now that I'm here, nothing."

Merlin isn't sure what's going on, so he goes for humor. "I haven't written dialogue that bad since the last time I'd submitted a manuscript to Mills & Boon.

That works, and Harry seems to relax. "Mills & Boon? I hope you're kidding."

"Not in the least. I still have all twelve of their rejection letters, I can show them to ye if ye don't believe me."

"Well, their loss is Kingsman's gain."

Merlin pulls Harry into the dining area, where he has the Champagne set up. 

"What are we celebrating?"

"I turned in a book today - the last one under my old contract." Merlin bites his lip, suddenly unsure how to tell Harry about _Walking Out_.

"I know."

"Eggsy told you?" Merlin's kind of surprised about that. While Eggsy had made it clear that he's loyal to Harry, he didn't say anything about telling Harry before giving Merlin a chance to do just that.

Harry shakes his head, looking grim, which makes Merlin very nervous. "It's a tale that really belongs in one of your thrillers. When I got home this afternoon, there was a book waiting for me in my mailbox. A copy of _Walking Out_. I'd read it, back when it first came out, and had been - like most of London - titillated and impressed."

Merlin wants to thank Harry for the compliment, but he's not completely sure that Harry knows he's the author, so he says nothing.

"Whoever had left the book put a bookmark on a particular page, one with an underlined passage."

Merlin closes his eyes. He knows just what passage and who had given Harry the book. "The one about Stephen's encounter with Baron Huntley."

Harry nods.

"Yer mother set us up. She threw Armbrook in my face this afternoon, knowing I'd call ye to defuse the situation. Then she planted the book, figuring that with our conversation fresh in yer mind, ye'd make the connection between Macintosh and me."

"Exactly. It seems that she has a spy in Eggsy's office. Mother called to tell me that you'd written a sequel to _Walking Out_ , and that you'd used me. "

"No, Harry - I swear, I didn't use ye at all. Most of the story had been outlined before we'd even become reacquainted. I'd reached out to Victoria as a way back into the social scene." Merlin holds his breath, waiting for Harry to explode.

But Harry doesn't, he brushes his fingers down Merlin's cheek and gives him a soft kiss. "I know. I won't lie and say I didn't have a few bad moments, but reason quickly asserted itself. My mother must think I'm a fool to be so easily duped."

Merlin lets out a deep breath. "Thank ye, Harry. Thank ye for believing in me, and believing in us."

"I love you, Merlin."

Merlin isn't sure he's heard right. "Harry?"

Harry smiles and he suddenly looks like that young university student that Merlin had been so infatuated with. "You heard me. I love you. I have never felt this way about anyone - this terror that I could have lost you so easily. That I could have let my mother's poison take hold and raged at you like a madman. It shakes me to the core and makes me understand just how important you are to me, how much pleasure I take in having you in my life."

Merlin rests his forehead against Harry's. "I can't imagine my life without ye. Just a few short months and all I can see is ye in my life. It's crazy - I've never wanted anyone to be with me, day to day, a draw on my attention and energy. I've been happy as a footloose bachelor, but the moment we met again, the idea of being with ye consumed me. Ye asking me to pretend to be yer lover seemed almost too good to be true - I'd get to spend time with ye, get to know ye. I had been a bit disappointed that ye held me at arms length for a while, but the wait had been worth it."

"You did a good job of pretending you were satisfied with the way things were going," Harry says with a rueful smile. "I was terrified that you'd rebuff me."

"Harry, couldn't ye figure I had come out of the bathroom in that towel hoping ye'd see me in the all together, hoping ye wouldn't be freaked out by the piercing? I was very disappointed that ye'd been such a gentleman and turned yer back to give me privacy." 

"And the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I turned and looked right into an unexpected mirror." Harry smiles at the memory. "I was half-hard all night long. And you looked so gorgeous in your tuxedo, I could barely keep control of myself."

Merlin shakes his head in disbelief. "Says someone who knows just how spectacular they look in formalwear."

Harry kisses him again, and murmurs, "Enough."

"Do ye want to celebrate with me?"

"You really want that Champagne, don't you?"

"Hell, yes. Four months ago, I had despaired that I'd ever write another book, I'd been terrified that all my words were gone. That my publisher - "

Harry elbows him lightly.

"My _publisher_ was going to cut me because I couldn't deliver on my contract. I don't know if ye can understand the despair."

"I'm not a creative - I don't have that spark, so I can only imagine what it must feel like." Harry kisses Merlin again, and apologizes. "I'm sorry, I can't seem to help myself. This is a big day for you and it's been a bit ruined."

Merlin's quick to correct Harry. "Not in the least. I could certainly have done without being threatened by yer mother - that took a bit of the shine off the day - but I'm also glad because it made telling ye what I'd done just a bit easier. I'll be honest, I hadn't been sure of yer reaction to R.S. Macintosh."

Harry chuckles. "Chester King had loathed the idea of the book and had refused to bid on it. If he had won the rights, I may not have been able to step in and rescue the company after he'd died - so I guess I owe something to the old prude."

Merlin's curiosity can't be restrained. "Have ye ever read it - before this afternoon?"

"Of course, I'd read it when it came out - everyone had - and I'd been impressed at the writing and just a bit appalled by the graphic sex. A decade before, it might have gotten censored, but you'd managed to score a place on the Booker Prize shortlist, instead. It's just not a book I'd been comfortable re-reading - it cuts too close to home."

"After all, ye'd fucked Cokehead Quimby." Merlin can't resist teasing Harry.

"Something I still regret."

"Me, too."

Harry is a better man, and instead of throwing back a bit more shade, he reaches for the Champagne and makes a pleased murmur about the vintage. 

"Only the best for us."

Harry agrees. "Shall I open?"

"Please."

Harry doesn't go for the showy gesture of letting the cork fly. He eases it out of the bottle and fills the waiting glasses. He picks one up and hand it to Merlin, then takes the other. Before Merlin can take a sip, Harry raises his glass, clearly about to make a toast.

"To you, Merlin. To the happiness you bring to my life every day."

Merlin responds, with an equally heartfelt, "And to ye, Harry, it's hard to imagine my life without ye."

They both take a sip, and this time Merlin kisses Harry, savoring the taste of the fine Champagne from his lover's lips.

Harry sighs. "I really do love you, so very much."

Merlin feels like he's caught up in one of his own romance novels - his head is spinning, his heart racing, the warmth he feels has nothing to do with the bubbly and everything to do with the man he's with. "I love ye, too."

"Marry me."

Merlin pulls back and takes a good look at Harry. "Are ye serious?"

"Absolutely. I just told you I can't imagine my life without you. I see no reason why we shouldn't get married."

Merlin can think of a dozen reasons why they shouldn't, and all of them have to do with class and social status and all the crap that doesn't really matter. And then Merlin realizes that there is one reason that just might matter. He struggles to find a way to ask without sounding like an arse.

The delay makes Harry step back. "Unless you don't want to. We don't have to, not unless - "

Merlin smiles and shakes his head. "Aye - I want to marry ye, Harry. Nothing would make me happier."

Harry relaxes against him, practically glowing. "And yet, there's a 'but' there, no?"

"I have to ask, and I'll beg yer pardon beforehand. Ye're not asking as a big 'fuck you' to yer mother?"

That earns Merlin a shout of laughter and a quick, hard kiss. "I've done many things in my life to deliberately piss the old witch off, but marrying you isn't ever going to be one of them. I want to marry you because I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Is that clear?"

"As crystal."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since this is a Mills & Boon romance, Harry and Merlin have their happily ever after, but only once they's banished the monster - Harry's horrible mother.

Harry paces the length of the conference room for the umpteenth time, hating that he's so nervous, and worse, hating that he's showing it. At least the only people who can see his tension are his attorneys - who occupy one entire half of the vast conference table - and Merlin.

Merlin didn't have to be here, and in a way, Harry would almost prefer Merlin to be anywhere else. This showdown with Lady Margaret is going to be ugly, and Harry hadn't wanted Merlin to witness that.

But Merlin is insistent, even making jokes about the whole "for better and for worse" part of the vows they'll be saying soon enough. 

When Harry reaches for the coffee pot again, Merlin gets up and takes it from him. "Love, I think ye've had enough." 

Harry looks at his hands - they are shaking - and he has to agree. "She's late and it's just head games, I know."

"Aye, Lady Margaret is a rather Machiavellian cunt, but ye can't let her get to ye."

"She's been getting to me for more than fifty years, it's a hard habit to break." Harry lets out a hard sigh. "I hate the fucking bitch, I hate the way I've let myself be her victim for so many years."

"Ye were doing it to protect yer brother and his family. Can't think of a better reason."

"I should have found the way to stop her before now, though."

Merlin, in his infinite wisdom, has the perfect way to stop Harry's self-flagellation. "If ye'd defanged her all those years ago, ye wouldn't needed to have pretended to date anyone. Ye'd have been content in yer solitary life and we'd never have fallen in love."

The truth of Merlin's words are undeniable and Harry feels the tension leech out of him. "You are very wise."

Merlin laughs. "No, I'm not. But I write romance novels, and I know all the best lines."

Whatever Harry's would have said in response is cut off by the a slight commotion outside of the conference room. It seems that Lady Margaret has arrived, in high dudgeon and accompanied by her own team of attorneys.

When she sees Merlin, she grimaces and whispers something to one of her solicitors, who announces, "Lady Margaret objects to the presence of Mr. MacLean. We will not move forward until he leaves the room."

Harry had anticipated this and nods at his own attorney, who drops the first bomb of the morning. "Lady Margaret may chose to leave, but the consequences of her departure will have no effect on the termination of the trust that provide her with her income."

That gets his mother back to the table, and to Harry's gratitude, she's keeping her mouth shut. Everyone takes a seat, Harry at the head of the table, Merlin at his right hand, his lead solicitor in the middle. Lady Margaret and her coterie take up similar positions, and she's sitting as far away from Harry as possible.

Lady Margaret's lead solicitor, a bland - almost grayish - fellow introduced as Walter Somethingorother, throws out the first salvo. "What do you mean by the termination of the trust?"

The meeting goes about as well as Harry has expected - his solicitors are earning their fees, with their line-by-line dissection of the terms of the trust agreement his mother had signed about a decade ago. They have stacks of case law and precedent supporting Harry's contention that not only can he terminate the trust for Lady Margaret's continued violation of the terms, but that he is under no obligation to provide any income to her, ever. After all, she had her inheritance from the estate of the previous Marquess and had not contested the provisions of his will.

At one point, she threatens - through her counsel - to do just that, but is shut down rather quickly.

Finally, after all the cards have been played, Lady Margaret speaks to the room. "So, you've brought me here for a reason, Henry. What are you offering?"

His solicitor passes two copies of a document across the table, and the second copy is handed down to his mother. Harry wonders if she'll be able to contain herself. It's a close run thing - she's turning beet-red, as if she's about to explode - but she keeps her tongue. For the benefit of the room, Walter reads the outline of the provisions.

"Lady Margaret is to permanently relocate to the island of Bermuda, to a residence selected by Lord Hart suitable to Lady Margaret's station. It will be staffed with personnel selected by Lord Hart, and upkeep paid by Lord Hart. Lady Margaret will be paid a quarterly allowance of fifty thousand British pounds, contingent upon her remaining in Bermuda. If she returns to the United Kingdom, or attempts to contact any member of the Hart family, including any persons who will be marrying into the Hart family prior to the actual marriage, makes any threats against the members of the Hart family, their dependents, employees or businesses, her income and her right to live at said residence will be immediately terminated. Lord Hart will have no further obligations, moral or financial, towards Lady Margaret. Whether or not Lady Margaret refuses or accepts this offer, which expires at the end of this meeting, the current Trust that provides Lady Margaret with her income, will be terminated effective immediately." 

Walter looks at his client, who flicks her hand at him. He passes the paper to her and she picks up a pen and signs both copies. The documents are handed back down to Harry and he signs them as well. The solicitors do their own thing, copies are made and finally, everyone stands.

Lady Margaret, her expression as sour as month-old milk, finally says something, "How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child."

Harry's reply is swift, "And yet, had Lear believed in and trusted his daughter - the one who truly loved him and didn't cozen him with false praise - he wouldn't have been driven mad, condemned to wander the moors. My father might not have loved you, but he never offered you the level of disrespect you'd shown him throughout your marriage. Your children would not have turned their backs on you had you given them the slightest amount of love. You've made your bed, mother. Now lie in it."

Harry doesn't feel triumphant, merely sad and weary, when his mother reacts to the verbal slap. Merlin reaches out and lays his hand over Harry's, a much appreciated show of support. When his mother stands, so does the rest of the room. The meeting is over and god willing, this will be the last time he and his mother will be in this close proximity short of the grave. As she passes, Harry pulls an envelope out of his breast pocket and hands it to her.

"What is this?"

"An announcement of my wedding. And don't worry, it not an invitation and we don't expect a gift."

Lady Margaret sneers and drops it to the floor, stepping on it as she walks out.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It's early October and Merlin thinks that Cornwall is even more lovely in the autumn than the summer. The warm Atlantic trade winds keep the temperatures moderate, more than pleasant enough to enjoy a picnic by the lake. Today, he and Harry are stretched out on lounge chairs on the dock, and despite the bright sun and warm air, the breeze off the water is a bit chilly, and Merlin's grateful for the blankets Harry had insisted on bringing.

This visit to the estate is something of a celebration. Yesterday afternoon, Lady Margaret boarded a direct flight to Hamilton, Bermuda and had taken up permanent residence there, as part of her agreement to stay out of her children's lives.

Harry lets out a pleased sigh and tucks his phone away. "Mother arrived, settled in and surrendered her passport to the lawyers on the other side."

Merlin nods, understanding everything that Harry isn't saying; neither of them are superstitious men, but there always a risk in tempting fate.

"You know what that means?"

Merlin blinks, is Harry asking him to say what he, himself, is too afraid to? "It means a lot of things, but I'm not sure exactly that ye're looking for."

Harry grins, looking more like a boy of sixteen than a man of fifty-two. "It means we can start planning the wedding!" 

"That is true. We haven't done much more than set a date, and even that is flexible."

Harry sits up and rubs his hands together. "I was thinking, Saint George's, in London. A thousand guests, minimum. The wedding breakfast at the Carlisle, or maybe the Savoy. You know I'm on speaking terms with Prince Charles, right? Would you like him to walk you down the aisle? We'll see about getting you on the New Year's Honor's list, of course. How does 'Knight Commander of the British Empire' sound?"

Merlin feels his stomach plummet. If this is what Harry wants for their wedding, it'll be what Harry gets. But frankly, Merlin would be far happier having a quiet ceremony in a registrar's office and a few close friends and family for luncheon afterwards. "Whatever will make ye happy, love."

Harry stares at him until Merlin starts feeling uncomfortable from the weight of his gaze and he caves. "Ye better be taking the piss about Prince Charles and the whole thousand guests thing."

Harry's chuckle is a deep relief. "Darling, your expression was priceless. And I'm sorry, I couldn't resist."

Merlin contemplates pushing Harry into the lake, but lets the better angels of his nature take hold. "Ye're forgiven. Now, tell me, what would really make ye happy to do for our wedding?"

Harry reaches for Merlin's hand and kisses the back of it. "Getting married in the village church and seeing you walk up the aisle in that gorgeous tuxedo would make me the happiest man alive."

_FIN_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much, my dear AnarchyCox, for co-modding this challenge and for creating such wonderfully inspiring artwork.


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